


Shamsi

by sapphicleksa



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, M/M, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Post-Recall, Team Talon, Team Talon (Overwatch)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2018-11-06 14:44:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 53,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11038326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicleksa/pseuds/sapphicleksa
Summary: Captured by Talon, Mercy and Pharah reluctantly cooperate to keep each other safe. But there’s more than one familiar face hidden in the shadows, and old loyalties collide with new motives as they try to figure out who they can trust, and how they can get out alive.Or, Angela tries to save Fareeha, Gabe, and Amélie but forgets to save herself, and Fareeha does her best to protect the ones she loves but struggles with what exactly that means.





	1. Chapter 1

“Mercy – ”

“On my way.” She stepped back from Genji and shot into the air, drifting to a halt next to Pharah and pulling out her staff. She frowned at the chunk of exposed, bleeding flesh on Pharah’s side. It wouldn’t be there for long, but it was still worrisome, especially out here in the cold; exposed skin wasn’t far off from frostbitten skin. “What happened?”

“Rocket grazed me. I wouldn't have asked for you, except for the weather.”

“Well, I would’ve come regardless,” she said with the slightest playful smile. “And anyways, Winston has everyone shielded down there. They seem more focused on you.”

“They are exposed from above,” said Pharah. She looked like she was going to say something more, but she grabbed Mercy’s free hand and pulled her to the side, just moments before a rocket shot past. She squeezed Mercy’s hand. “You’re too exposed here. I can take their fire, but you – ”

“ _You_ still need healing,” Mercy rebutted. She was unfazed by the explosions around them, her attention focused on Pharah’s wound. While she was, of course, listening to the comms for calls for help, the ground team did have things considerably well-handled. It was Pharah who was getting the brunt of the damage. “I’m surprised this is the only major injury you have.”

Pharah’s face was hard to see given the visor and the wind whipping dust and snow around them, but Mercy could tell she had an eyebrow raised just from hearing her voice. “That is because _I_ am nimble. _You_ , on the other hand, are slow.”

“Not _that_ slow!”

“You, Dr. Ziegler, are _slow._ ”

“Perhaps,” she allowed.

Winston’s voice on the comms interrupted them. “Pharah. Can you go in closer and draw more of their fire? We’re going on the offensive down here. Mercy?”

“On my way…one moment. Pharah still needs me.”

“Mercy, you can’t sustain the kind of damage she’s about to take.”

“Neither can she in her condition.” That was…maybe a stretch, but she’d feel more comfortable sending the love of her life to get all manner of explosives shot at her if she was a little bit closer to full health.

“Pharah?”

Silence for a moment, then a quick but sure, “I'll be fine.”

“Mercy, disengage.”

She knew what Pharah was doing; she’d done it so many times, putting herself at risk to keep Mercy safe. But keeping her team safe was Mercy’s job. Aside from shooting nearly useless little pellets, all she could do for the people she cared about was watch their backs and heal them, and yet, they wouldn’t let her. Mercy closed her eyes and exhaled. This wasn’t about her. This was about her team. This was about the _world._ If they thought this was best, she had to trust them. “Heading to you, Winston.”

When she opened her eyes, she saw a flash of light and then sudden nothingness.

xXx

Pharah was watching Mercy make up her mind and getting ready to throw the healer to the ground if that was what it took. She wasn’t watching the ground. She didn’t see the missile until just before it struck.

It hit Mercy’s right side, blowing off her wing, knocking the staff from her hand, her arm – she plummeted. Pharah dove, scooping the unconscious woman from the air. An immense pressure hit her back and she screamed as she fell, but her grip on the woman in her arms only tightened as she curled her armored body around Mercy’s small, limp form. Her tattered wings slowed the fall but not enough, not enough to control where they were falling or to see where they would land.

The snow saved them. Thick and untouched and almost muffling the shouting in her ear.

“Pharah, report! Mercy, report! Report!”

“Alive,” she croaked. “One…moment.”

She was alive, saved by her armor and the strength of her wings, but was Mercy? Mercy, who had neither? Gingerly, almost afraid, she pulled her body away from Mercy’s. Her right wing was completely gone, there was blood on the side of her head and her arm…too much blood to see. But her chest…the rise and fall was still there. Shallow, but there.

Pharah choked back a sob. “Mercy is alive, but unconscious and injured…my suit is damaged.”

Silence. “Can you hold out?”

“How long?”

“Until we take the point.” A beat. “We need this, Pharah.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“We signed up for this. Do what needs to be done. Worry about us after.”

“Understood.”

“Understood.” But she didn’t want to agree to sit here like helpless, injured, freezing targets. If it were just her, she would demand they push forward and leave her behind. She wouldn’t let them even think of coming back for her until their mission was complete. But it wasn’t just her.

Gently, gently, she scooped her back into her arms and pressed her face into Angela’s. Her tears were cold and she felt terrible for making Mercy even the tiniest bit less warm. She was already so cold. Was this the first time Mercy had been injured? Of course not. But it was the first time it was on Pharah’s watch. It was the first time she could look at her love and know that each and every wound was her fault. She shouldn’t have asked for healing. She shouldn’t have let Mercy argue. She should’ve been paying attention.

“Angela,” she murmured, holding the woman close. “ _Shamsi._ Don't leave me now. Don't leave me now.”

xXx

Angela woke up, and she was warm. No, her _face_ was warm. She was cold. She was in _pain_. A deep moan escaped her body.

Then she felt arms tighten around her and lips brush her forehead. She knew those lips. “Fareeha?” her voice was faint and pained.

“Yes, _shamsi_ , yes, I'm here.”

My sun **.** No, Fareeha was her sun, warm brown face and brightly glowing eyes. “You saved me.”

Now Fareeha looked as pained as Angela felt. “I'm sorry,” she said, finally. “I should've seen it coming. I should've protected you.”

“You _did_ protect me.” She smiled, half-reassuring, half a wince at the pain in her arm. She almost didn’t want to look. “You caught me. That is the only reason all of me doesn’t feel like my arm does…how bad is it.”

“You should've never been struck, though,” she murmured. “I was distracted. I shouldn’t have been distracted.”

“You were trying to keep me safe.”

Fareeha shook her head slightly. She couldn’t disagree with that, but that didn’t change the situation they were in right now. Angela wasn’t going to let her blame herself, even though she deserved that blame, so she shifted the conversation. Angela would see through that, but at least her arm was something that needed talking about. “Your arm is…it's shredded, Angela. It's too bloody for me to see much.”

Ah. Maybe that accounted for some of the pain, but it felt the same way it had the last time she’d broken it. That was not good. “What supplies do we have?”

“…none. Angela, what can I do? No, do not talk. It sounds like it hurts.”

“It _does_ hurt,” she said with a little laugh. “But…I’ve had worse. That time in Numbani?”

She saw the blood drain from Fareeha’s face. “I thought you were dead.”

“I did too. Brain contusions, stomach lacerations, multiple bullet wounds in the chest area, a shattered knee, 3 broken ribs, a broken arm…”

“Do you have to do that?”

“What?”

“Talk about being hurt. I can't stand it.”

“The injuries?” Angela’s voice was almost playful.

“No, _you_ with the injuries. You know that.”

“Fareeha…it’s not your fault.”

“This time it is.”

“And last time we could blame Winston, time before that Lena, if I blamed whoever was next to me when I got hurt everyone on the team would be responsible.”

“But this time –”

“Fareeha. Please.” Her voice was firm. “Stop. The only time it could be yours or anyone’s fault is if you turned around and shot me yourself. I’m a field medic. I signed up for this. I know what the job entails.”

“Still…” She sounded like she wanted to argue, but didn’t, thankfully. “I just don't like to see you in pain. There's nothing I can do. I'm helpless.”

“You are _not_ helpless. Your beautiful face is distracting me.” She giggled. “It’s better than staring at Reinhardt’s grizzled old mug.”

“He didn't look so bad when he was younger,” Fareeha mused.

“You were a child!”

“Children have eyes.”

“You were a _lesbian_ child!”

“And you were a lesbian teenager, but we both know he was a looker.”

“Fair,” Angela admitted. “Though, if I had to pick a guy from the original team, it would be Gabe.”

“Really. Not Jack?”

She stuck out her tongue. “He’s too pretty.”

“Are you saying I’m not pretty?” Fareeha said with a raised eyebrow.

“No, you’re beautiful. He was a pretty boy. And gay. Gabe reminds me of you, though.”

“You thought he was beautiful?”

“No…I think he was strong, and tough, and determined, like someone else I know.”

Fareeha leaned down to kiss her forehead, lips somehow still warm despite the icy air. Angela knew it was because she herself was so much colder in comparison, but she’d like to think it was Fareeha’s natural fire seeping through. “Are you talking about yourself?”

“Hardly. That would be awfully self-centered, wouldn’t it.”

“I know Lena would agree with me.”

Angela blushed slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know she's in love with you.”

“‘In love’ isn’t the phrase I would use.”

“Infatuated, then. You just have that effect on people.”

“What, I seduce them?”

“No, you're just…you're hard not to love.”

“Is that how I got you?” Angela smiled sweetly. “It was just impossible for you to not love me so much you’d crash land in the snow to save my life?”

“Mmm, you could say that.” She bit her lip, and Angela saw her glance at her arm. The bleeding had slowed, but it still looked like a disaster.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “You just called me strong, didn’t you? It’s not that bad. It’s better in your arms and talking to you. When’s the last time we had more than a few minutes alone?”

Fareeha was silent, visibly thinking hard.

“Exactly,” Angela laughed. “See, this is actually a good thing.”

“If you ignore the mangled arm.”

“Which I’m actively trying to do.”

“Of course.” But she couldn’t quite hide the worry on her face. Fareeha spoke into the comm, putting it on speaker so they could both hear. “Mission status?”

There was silence, but someone was breathing. “This is Pharah. Mission status?”

Laughter that could only be described as dark filled the silent air. The voice that spoke was likewise dark and gravelly and unmistakable. “Mission failed. Coordinates obtained. Extraction team incoming.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and kudos, they're super helpful for motivation!  
> I DO have more chapters planned/written that I will be posting, but I'm going to be traveling without wifi for the next few weeks so here's a bit longer chapter just in case it's a lil bit before the next update.

“I still have weapon functionality. I can defend us.” Fareeha had switched into Pharah mode as soon as the transmission ended.

“For how long?”

“Long enough to take some of that scum out with us.”

Angela nodded grimly. She pulled out her pistol, which had somehow survived and was full on ammo. “If I can get headshots I can do some damage with this.”

“Angela…you can’t stand.”

“I can try. My legs aren’t injured.”

“You’re weak.”

“I’m not going to lay here and let Talon murder me without putting up a fight!” she yelled. She swallowed and looked away. Anger wasn’t exactly her thing. “But you’re right. I’ll have better balance sitting down. I can make better shots.”

Fareeha squeezed Angela’s hand and kissed her on the lips. Blue eyes met black and they could see each other pushing back tears. This was in no way how either of them wanted to go out. But this was how things were, and they were going to be strong. At least they were together. After one last, lingering look, Fareeha rose, standing over Angela like a protective shield.

They heard the helicopters before they saw them. When they became visible, they were just barely out of range of rocket launcher. “Lay down your weapons and you will both live,” came Reaper’s distinctive voice over a speaker.

“Never.” Fareeha’s shout carried through the wind.

The fight was fiercer than any Angela had been in. Maybe that was because she didn’t get in many fights, but she could see it on Fareeha’s face, usually so calm and focused during battle. There was an added intensity and desperation, despite all of the soldiers coming for them clearly being new or inexperienced. Meatshields, softening them up while Reaper waited.

And yet, even with these agents being so unseasoned, Angela would’ve expected Fareeha and herself to take more damage. Especially given that, even with Fareeha shielding her, she was still essentially a sitting duck. Talon was holding back, and that worried Angela more than if the agents were coming at them full-force.

The next wave – the last wave – of agents that dropped from the helicopters moved differently. Confidently, not just because the two women had used up all of their ammo; these were the elite agents. The others were just battle fodder.

Then the monster himself. Angela had only seen him once or twice in person, and always from a distance. He was more intimidating now, but she found her fear tempered by curiosity – what was with the black smoke that blurred his edges? Up close it looked even stranger than it did on blurry security cams or off in a fight far from her.

Fareeha repositioned herself so she was in between Reaper and Angela, and though her she had no rockets to launch, she could do some damage with that heavy weapon. “Come no closer.”

Reaper chuckled, then, in an instant, turned to winding smoke and reappeared on the ground next to Angela with a gun to her head. “I’d suggest dropping your weapon, Pharah.”

“Don’t,” Angela said quickly. “Let him shoot me. Let us die free.”

She could see the pain, the struggle on Fareeha’s face. Die as free women, die fighting? Or live? Angela knew what Fareeha was going to say before she said it; they were each willing to let themselves die, but let the other die? No. They protected each other far more than they’d ever protect themselves. Fareeha dropped her rocket launcher and stood with arms hanging loose by her sides. Her voice was low. “Do not hurt her.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Something heavy hit the side of Angela’s head, and once again, she fell into darkness.

xXx

The first thing Angela noticed when she woke up was a lightness to her body. A missing-ness. Then a panic, when her eyes fully opened and she saw nothing where her right arm should’ve been. She felt nothing. It was gone, it was gone, and she was…she didn’t know where she was. Who did this…Talon. Talon made this idiotic decision, Talon put her in this white room, Talon took Fareeha from her. Fareeha. That was the missing-ness she felt, not her arm; arms could be replaced. She could make do without her arm. She couldn’t make do without Fareeha.

The door opened and she jumped off the table to her feet, a little unsteady but too angry to care, ran to the door and swung her left fist at the black-robed man who entered.

He caught it easily. He held her fist effortlessly in his hand as she struggled, seeming to enjoy how simple it was for him to control her.

Angela jerked her knee up, smiling grimly when she met her target. That smile turned to a grimace as Reaper forced her down then tossed her to the ground. She was sore. But, aside from her missing arm, her body didn’t seem to be injured.

She opened her mouth, but Reaper held up a finger. “Unless you want something to happen to Pharah, you are going to do everything I say.”

Her stomach turned and twisted on herself, but she maintained a composure that was more or less collected, save the slightest widening of her eyes. She was a doctor; she had to hide how she really felt all the time. Her voice was almost clinical when she spoke. “Pharah?”

“Fareeha Amari. The woman you love.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“Am I?”

“We’re…friends. We work together. I wouldn’t say I love her.”

He looked away from her for a moment. “Sombra?”

Laughter spilled into the room as another woman entered. So this was Talon’s hacker. “You’re friends, _querida_? You work together?” She flicked her wrist and countless holos surrounded them. Angela and Fareeha asleep in bed together. Kissing each other good morning. In the middle of sex. Holding hands before a mission. Curled on a couch watching the news. And more. Intimate moments, quick shows of public affection – rare because of this very reason – all evidence that no, she and Fareeha were anything but simply work associates.

“This is her now. Much less happy, wouldn’t you say?” Another purple wrist-flick, and Fareeha, life-sized in front of them, so real that Angela had to stop herself from running forward to touch her. She was still battered from the fight, barely clothed, curled up in the corner of some small, dark cell.

Angela’s eyes flashed at Reaper. Her voice was low; no point in trying to keep up a façade now. “Don’t you dare hurt her.”

“We won’t. We may even help her, if you help us.” He nodded to Sombra, who made the holo disappear.

Despite herself, Angela’s fingers stretched out and her face fell when Fareeha disappeared. She swallowed, curled her remaining fingers into a fist, and looked Reaper in the eyes. “Let me see her.”

“You just did, _querida_.”

Her eyes darted to Sombra. “For real. In person.”

“Perhaps,” Reaper said. “You would need to prove yourself first.”

“How.”

“Help us locate your Caduceus staff.”

“I dropped it.”

“We still want it even if it’s damaged.”

“Trying to be find it will be difficult with one hand.”

“Sombra will be your hands.”

“Actually, the things you want me to do? Helping me with your tech? That’s also going to be incredibly difficult with one hand.” She was getting angry. “There was absolutely no reason to amputate my arm. How idiotic are your doctors?”

“Arms can be replaced. If you help us with your staff, perhaps yours will be replaced.”

“I care more about Fareeha than my arm.”

“Good to know.” He nodded his head towards Sombra. “Go with her. Don’t think to try anything; Pharah will suffer.”

“So will you.” Sombra raised an eyebrow and gestured to the gun at her hip. “I can more than defend myself.”

Angela rolled her tongue in her mouth. This whole thing made her sick. Helping Talon? She’d rather die. But she couldn’t let Fareeha die. She couldn’t. Even if it meant betraying Overwatch…God, when she thought about it like that…but she wouldn’t have to betray them. She was smart. She could figure out a way to get them both out alive without helping Talon too much. She knew Fareeha wouldn’t want this. But then, _she_ hadn’t wanted Fareeha to let herself get taken. It would’ve been easier if they’d both died out there.

But they were here now. Now it was Angela’s job to protect her love. Was Fareeha more important than Overwatch? Her head screamed no no _no_ , but her heart, her heart was even louder, even the thought of living in a world without Fareeha was unbearable. She had to protect Fareeha. That was what Mercy did, protect people. Except this time she was choosing wrong, she knew that; she was choosing to pocket the person she cared about most in the world rather than look out for her whole team. It was selfish, it was wrong, and she didn’t have a choice.

“Fine. _Fine._ Take me to a computer.”

“Good choice.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

Angela shuddered when he left the room.

“He’s not so scary when you get to know him,” Sombra said with a knowing smile.

“I don’t want to get to know him,” she responded flatly. “Let’s get this over with.”

The hacker shrugged. “Suit yourself. Let’s go. And please don’t try to run, apparently it took forever to patch you up so I don’t want to have to shoot you.”

Angela snorted as she followed Sombra out of the room. “I was barely injured. I could’ve healed myself in no time at all.”

She tried to take in everything around them, where they were going, where guards were posted, the people moving around them. That was hard to do given how quickly Sombra was walking. She moved not with urgency, but with rapid impatience, like she was used to getting places much more quickly than this. She moved the way Lena did when she wasn’t blinking, Angela realized with a pang. Lena Oxton, who was infatuated with her. Who was daring and sweet and brave. One of the people she was betraying.

“That’s why we wanted you, Dr. Angela Ziegler. You do more with your magic wand in three minutes than our doctors do in three hours.”

“That’s your doctors’ fault,” she retorted. “And…it’s not a magic wand.”

“Magic staff, whatever.” Sombra waved her hand and flopped down in front of a spread of monitors. “Pull up a chair.”

“I’ll stand.”

“Oh shit, yeah, One-Arm,” she laughed, standing up. “Sit here, _tullida_.”

Angela was going to protest, but Sombra was already grabbing another chair so she gingerly took a seat in front of the monitors.

“Ok. Locating magic staff. What should we scan for?”

Angela sighed. “Nanite particles.”

“Nanite particles? That’s what the glowy stuff is?” Sombra considered that for a moment, shrugged, then started typing. She didn’t look like she was needing to focus very much.

“Yes. Do you...need more information?”

Sombra shook her head. “Nah, we’ve got enough in our database to locate them. Just not use them. And...got it. Those coordinates look right?”

“Yes.”

“Retrieval team is on the way.”

She hesitated slightly. “Can I see Fareeha now?”

“Mmm, not my call, _querida_.”

“Well, Reaper isn’t here now, and you are.”

Sombra looked down at her nails. “He’ll be back. He’s probably off brooding somewhere.”

“Then…can I ask you a question?”

“Depends.”

“What is the point of all this?”

“All of what? Taking you and your girl? Thought that was obvious, we need your brains.”

“No, Talon. You kill former Overwatch agents. You kill leaders, peacemakers, innocent people. You cause chaos. What is the point?”

“What’s the point of chaos?” Sombra laughed. “Sweet little Mercy. Some of us thrive in the chaos.”

“But that’s…” She shook her head. “That’s pointless. That’s idiotic. This entire organization exists to cause chaos? There has to be an agenda.”

Sombra shrugged. “That’s above me, not that I care at all. And if I knew our top secret agenda you wouldn’t be the person I’d tell.”

“You’re here for yourself,” Angela said flatly. She didn’t know whether that made it worse or better. Aligning yourself with an evil organization for self-gain, or because you actually believed in their ideals…both resulted in the same thing. Did the reasons matter? Well, yes. Knowing people’s reasoning was how you could change their minds. Not that she necessarily thought she could change Sombra’s mind, but her not being a true believer in whatever it was Talon stood for was good to know. Maybe there was a chance here.

“And you’re here for your girlfriend,” she countered. “Both selfish reasons, no?”

“Saving Fareeha is not selfish.”

“Isn’t it? She seems like the kind of good soldier who’d rather die than be taken prisoner. Yet here she is, a prisoner. Because of you.”

“So I should let her die, that’s what you’re saying? What would you do?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she shrugged again. “Love is a weakness I don’t have.”

“Mercy.”

Angela was not an easily-startled woman, but hearing that voice and feeling that man’s breath out of nowhere certainly made her jump. She swiveled around to face him with her arms crossed. “Reaper?”

“You’ve located the staff.”

“Yes.”

“What condition is it in?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you fix it?”

“If it’s not too damaged.”

“Can you replicate it?”

She rolled her eyes slightly. “If you know enough about me to want to capture me, you should know that I designed and built that staff myself. Of course I can replicate it. You know that. If you’re going to try to make me lie to you do it better.”

His laugh this time actually sounded like it could be genuine, and for a moment, not even a full moment really, something of him sounded familiar. It was an old and fuzzy familiarity that she couldn’t put her finger on, but it was there.

And it was gone as quickly as it came, but it had troubled something inside of her that wasn’t going to let herself forget about this. “Good,” he said, his gravelly voice not the slightest bit familiar. “If we retrieve it and you repair it, I might consider letting you see Pharah.”

“What?” Angela said flatly. Her mouth was a tight line. “Let me see her now.”

“No.”

“Then…give her some food. Some healing, something.” She couldn’t hide the desperation creeping into her voice.

“We are not going to heal her.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Not until you make a second staff.”

“That will take too long. She’s hurt _now_.”

“Then you’d better work quickly.”

Angela wanted to punch him. But she’d tried that and it hadn’t worked out too well. Didn’t make her want to do it any less. “Give her food, then. Surely you can do that.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you enjoying this?”

“Enjoying what?”

“Being a monosyllabic piece of shit.”

Sombra giggled, and they both looked over to see her watching them. All she was missing was a tub of popcorn. “No, go on, really,” she said, waving her hand at them. “This is fun.”

“I’m glad you think me trying to take care of my girlfriend is funny,” Angela snapped.

Sombra laughed again. “Didn’t know you had so much fire in you. You’re almost as stubborn as old Reaps here.”

“You can’t be a doctor if you’re not stubborn.” She gave Reaper a withering look. “He’s not the biggest piece of shit I’ve dealt with. I can handle him.”

He put his hands on the armrests of Angela’s chair and leaned down so he was right in her face. “‘You can handle me?’” he repeated.

She lifted her chin. She was not going to be cowed. “Yes. You need me.”

“We don’t need Pharah.”

“I’ve done what you asked. You’re testing me? I’m testing you. If you don’t keep your word there’s no point in me doing anything for you. We’ll both be dead either way.”

There was silence. He chuckled and again, that feeling like she should know what the sound reminded her of but couldn’t quite get there struck her. “You’re brave.”

“I have to be.”

He stood back up in one quick motion. “Pharah will be fed.”

Angela exhaled. “Thank you.”

“Do what you’re here to do.”

Her eyes widened slightly as he turned and walked away. _Do what you’re here to do._ It wasn’t like it was an uncommon phrase or order of stringing words together, but that…it made the laughs echo in her head. It made her mind stretch back, far back, to someone she thought was long-dead.


	3. Chapter 3

Fareeha hadn’t been lucky enough to be knocked out. She’d had to let herself be herded onto the helicopter, watching helplessly as Angela was picked up and carried on as well. At least they were being relatively careful with her, though she had to protest when they jostled her injured arm and bumped her head.

Then they took her armor. They left her barely clothed and shivering and battered, threw her in a cell, and there was nothing she could do about it. They had Angela.

She sat in a corner, head in her hands. She tried to think logically. Go through what had happened to try to figure out what was going to happen. Think logically and rationally so she wouldn’t be overwhelmed. She and Angela had been captured by Talon. They had used Angela to get to her. But they treated Angela gingerly; even the knockout blow had been carefully placed, next to no way it could actually injure her. Fareeha didn’t think Angela was in a cell like this right now, which meant she had to be the leverage here. But so few people knew that they were in love; they had been so careful and discreet, for this very reason, so no one would try to take advantage of it.

She exhaled and ran her hands through her hair. That was as much as she was going to be able to figure out right now: Talon was using her to get to Angela. For what or why, she didn’t know. She wouldn’t know. All trying to figure it out would do was make her worry more.

And she was tired. Not the kind of tired she was used to, but a bone-deep exhaustion. Given that and, well, the fact there was nothing else to do in this dark, tiny room, she let herself fall asleep.

xXx

Fareeha wasn’t sure if it was a dream or a memory. She’d woken up blearily in the middle of the night at the sensation of someone watching her. Before her eyes or mind had fully cleared, she’d seen a tall black figure. For the few minutes she was in that hazy, half-asleep state, the figure had remained, standing over and looking down at her. Watching her.

When her eyes opened, she saw what may have been smoke, may have been her mind playing tricks on her in the lonely darkness, then nothing. Then Fareeha had fallen back asleep, or maybe she’d fallen back into another fitful dream. She also thought she’d seen Angela in barely-there bedroom version of her Valkyrie suit lifting her into the sky so they could cuddle on the moon, which also happened to be Winston’s house, but he didn’t mind them crashing. So. She couldn’t exactly trust her nighttime mind.

But she was awake now. The cold concrete pressed into her bare skin, and where she’d slept it was caked with spots of dried blood. That had to be real. Also real? The foam tray slid under her door. Fareeha jumped to her feet as quickly as her injured, weary body could manage and banged on the door with her fist. “Hey! Where is Mercy? If you touch her, I will rain justice all over your ass!” 

Silence. What had she expected? Maybe she’d scared whatever junior Talon agent had been tasked with bringing her food; that would be good enough for her right now. She sat down in front of the tray and looked at it disinterestedly. A slice of bread, some kind of Spam-looking meat-product, a foam cup of water. No utensils, no plastic or metal, nothing that could be turned into a weapon.

Fareeha pushed the tray away, then sighed, and pulled it back. She was loathe to eat anything Talon offered her, but she could just hear Angela’s voice scolding her and demanding she keep her strength up. So she put the meat on the bread and ate her makeshift sandwich with only a little bit of a grimace. The first bite was reluctant, but she finished the rest in a heartbeat. She was hungrier than she’d realized. The water she took her time with, only allowing herself a small sip for now.

Like he had been waiting for her to finish, the door to her cell opened and in stepped Reaper, arms crossed. “You ate. Good.”

“What does it matter to you?” Fareeha rose so she was looking him in the eyes, though it was hard to call those narrow slits in his mask eyes. She wanted to throttle him.

“We can’t have you starving yourself.”

“I had no idea you cared.” Her voice was biting.

“I don’t. Angela does.”

She flinched. Then she was angry. Her anger was low, smoldering; Angela’s was hot and rash, when it so rarely came out. But Fareeha’s anger was less rare. “What have you done to her.”

“We healed her.”

“What else did you do to her? Where is she?”

He ignored her questions. “You’re going to stay here. You’re going to eat what we give you. You’re not going to be difficult.”

“And if I don’t?”

“The woman you love will suffer.”

Fareeha bit her lip, then jerked her chin up defiantly. “You will not hurt her.”

“We will. So I suggest you cooperate.”

He slammed the door shut behind him and she rocked back on her heels, her fear finally having space to rise up in her and make her tremble. Cooperate? It wasn’t in her nature. But neither was putting Angela in danger.


	4. Chapter 4

Fixing her staff was easy, even with one hand. The snow had saved it, just like it had saved them, and all it took was some rewiring and a few basic repairs to get it functional again.

Replicating her staff was the hard part. Drawing out the diagrams and writing down the formulas sloppily with her left hand, explaining the concepts that made it work to people who had no right to understand or use this kind of technology...it pained Angela, every second. She hadn’t built them a new one today, but she had given them everything necessary to do it themselves. She’d been upset when Ana and Torbjorn had used the nanite technology in ways she didn’t agree with; this was ten times worse. At least they had good intentions. Talon did not.

“There. That’s everything. That’s years of hard work boiled down to a few hours. Can I go now?” Her voice was hollow and tired. Just this morning she’d laughed with Lena, made fun of Genji, encouraged Winston as he led them...kissed Fareeha. Though Talon had given her food and short breaks, they couldn’t give her the energy, the passion she got just by being around the people she loved and doing something good for the world. She’d done nothing good today. 

_ You saved Fareeha,  _ she reminded herself, but all that did was remind her that Fareeha wasn’t really safe at all. She was lonely and scared. Just like Angela.

One of the guards, some low-level Talon agent tasked with watching her, nodded. “I’ll take you to your room.”

Angela rose, still unsteady, not used to the unbalanced weight of her torso. “I need to use the washroom.”

He nodded again. That was all he seemed to do.

Angela went into the washroom, sat awkwardly on a toilet and locked the stall door, and started to sob into the hand she had left. Her breathing was hitched, panic rising, her slow tears falling more and more rapidly. She’d held it together this far only because she’d had to, because she hadn’t been alone, she hadn’t had time to let herself fall apart.

How she felt like she was falling apart. Her arm...she was a doctor, a scientist. She used her hands. She _needed_ her hands. She needed her arms, _both_ arms, to hold her staff. To hold Fareeha. Fareeha was trapped here, because of her, because Angela loved her, and she wasn’t, she wouldn’t be safe. How long would Talon keep her? Keep either of them? How long before they hurt her? How long before Fareeha was dead and Angela might as well be? Before...before she helped Talon hurt people. Before they used what she showed them to do the thing she never wanted, cause violence and pain and suffering.

The door opened and she heard the click of heels, and she tried to muffle her sobs, or quiet them, stopping them completely was too much to ask. The other woman in the washroom didn’t say anything. Angela was suddenly aware of how loud she was, how wet and warm her face was. No matter what Fareeha said, she knew she was an ugly crier, all blotchy cheeks and puffy eyes as soon as she let the tears flow. 

How long had it been? Five minutes? Ten? It was hard to keep track when she felt like she was collapsing in on herself. But it was long enough that she knew she needed to leave. And she wasn’t going to face anyone looking like this. She had to stay strong. Or appear strong. Show them they couldn’t get to her, even if they had.

She rose, flushed the toilet as if she’d even used it, and went to the sink. It was as bad as she’d expected. Angela turned on the cold water and bent over, splashing it over her face. When she stood back up, she thought it was the water in her eyes, but, no. Her face was a mask of shock as she saw the woman washing her hands next to her. It was Widowmaker, but...it was someone else, too.

“Amélie?” Angela breathed.

She turned and looked at Angela blankly. Her voice was just the way Angela remembered, but twisted, without the warmth and lilt she loved. “It is Widowmaker now.”

Angela swallowed, fighting back the tears that she had worked so hard to push away. Her voice was a whisper. “What did they do to you?”

“Talon? They made me strong.”

“Amélie, what does that even mean...do you even remember me?

Widow’s eyes flicked up and down Angela’s body. “Of course I remember you, Dr. Ziegler. Why would I forget?”

Angela’s hand tightened into a fist. Her first thought was that Talon must’ve wiped her memories somehow, reprogrammed her; that would explain Gérard and everything since. “You remember everything?”

“Yes.”

“Then _why_?” Desperation snuck into her whisper. “You were never a killer, Amie.”

She’d hoped using that pet name, the one she’d whispered in Amélie’s ear while they hugged after the ballet, kissed behind corners, and made love in the med supply closet, a Paris hotel room, her husband’s bed maybe that would stir something in her. That Talon hadn’t truly made the woman she’d loved a cold, heartless assassin.

Widow shrugged. “Why not?” 

She turned to leave, but Angela lurched forward and grabbed her slender wrist, almost letting go when she felt how cold Amélie’s skin was. “No. Amélie, what did they _do_ to you?”

Widow blinked but did not respond.

Angela raised Widow’s arm. “You’re blue. You’re cold. Explain that, at least.”

“My heart rate has been lowered.”

“Why.” She could think of several reasons off the top of her head, but she wanted Amélie to explain.

“I feel nothing. It makes me more effective.”

“Oh,” Angela exhaled. So that was what they had done to her. Taken away her emotions, so even if she remembered...she didn’t care. Somehow, that was almost worse than if she’d forgotten everything. Knowing that Amélie looked at her, remembered everything they’d shared, and still had this blank expression and uncaring words, that was worse than Amélie not knowing her at all. 

She let go of Widow’s wrist, but she couldn’t let go of the hope that maybe, somehow, Amélie could come back to her. It was stupid and she knew she should be focusing on surviving and getting out of here with Fareeha, but she’d thought Amélie dead, and now she was standing right here and there was this chance, no matter how slim, of saving her. That was always her downfall, wanting to save people. 

“Are we finished?” Widow asked, bored.

Angela swallowed. “For now. I’m not giving up on you, Amie. I know you’re in there. I know I can save you.”

“There is nothing to save me from. I am strong now, nothing like the pathetic girl you knew.” The slightest, barest hint of a smile touched her lips, but it didn’t make her look any friendlier. “If you are still smart, Angela, you will let Talon make you strong too.”

Angela watched, frozen in place, as Amélie left. That was a threat mingled with faux-friendly advice. Let them make her strong. Join them? Never. Though, a small voice said, the fact that Amélie was even trying to give her that advice, terrible as it was…it hinted that she might still care. Somewhere in there she cared enough to want Angela to do the easiest thing for herself and submit.

She wouldn’t, of course. She’d keep fighting in whatever small ways she could. But they could do what they did to Amélie...but they hadn’t. Though that would be easier for Talon than this. Maybe it wouldn’t. If they hadn’t yet, there was a reason. Amélie was alive. Amélie was Widowmaker. Amélie remembered. Those thoughts were stronger than any speculations; those were facts. Both terrifying and wonderful at the same time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be off the grid for the next month, but there are 100% more updates coming (and already written!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting on the update! I'll have another longer chapter featuring Angela and Sombra up next week.

_ONE WEEK LATER_

“Wake up.”

For a moment, Fareeha felt like little girl being prodded awake by someone, probably her mom or Gabe, pushing into her room after she’d slept too late. “Go away,” she groaned under her breath, not quite waking up.

She felt breath on her face. “Wake. Up.”

She saw a skull in her face when she opened her eyes. “Fuck!” she said as her fist jabbed forward in a reflexive punch.

Reaper moved easily to the side before she could hit him.

“What do you want?” she glared.

He stood. “Come with me.”

Fareeha blinked. That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. Maybe make another threat on hers or Angela’s lives, but not that. She rose and looked at him warily. “Where. Why.”

“You’ll see.” He opened the door to her cell, then turned back to look at her. “Don’t try to run. It won’t end well.”

“I am not stupid.” She went through the door and walked next to him with confidence, like she wasn’t sore and injured and still tired after a night sleeping in a prison cell. She walked like she wasn’t afraid and she spoke the same way. “How long until I can see Angela?”

“That depends on both of you.”

“I’ve cooperated. I assume she has too, since no one’s hurt me.”

“It’s barely been a week.” He sounded a little frustrated and confused, like he didn’t understand what the big fuss was.

“Well, it _has_ been a hell of a week,” she snorted. “I can still worry about the woman I love.”

“The woman you love,” he repeated, more disgustedly than Fareeha.

“Is that an attack on Angela, or the concept of love in general?” There was a challenge in her voice.

“Both.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’d be careful how you talk about her. I may be injured and you may be a demon, but I’m sure I can land a blow or two where it hurts.”

He laughed, and to her surprise, it wasn’t at her, it was with her. It was almost proud and impressed...and familiar. “I’m sure you would try.”

“You don’t think I could do it?”

Reaper snorted. “I have twice your lifetime’s worth of training, ‘ _Pharah_.’”

“But where did you get that training?”

“Nice try.” She would’ve said it sounded like he was smiling, if she thought that was something he could do.

“Worth a shot. But it can’t match up to mine. You know my mother, yes?”

“I’ve read the files.” There wasn’t a smile in his voice now. There wasn’t anything, really, not even intimidation; it was flat.

“Then you know she was fearless, and she raised me to be the same. And you know the heroes of Overwatch. The ones on the posters and the TV. Morrison, Reyes, Reinhardt. They raised me too.”

“Two old, two dead.”

“Maybe. But they died protecting others.” Just like she would do; she let that hang unspoken.

Reaper didn’t sound impressed. “Morrison and Reyes tore Overwatch apart.”

“Don’t believe everything the news would tell you,” she said, voice low and jaw clenched. Even all these years later she still hated it.

“Do you know something the rest of the world doesn’t?”

“What does it matter to you? You hate Overwatch. You’re glad it fell.”

“I am glad Gabriel Reyes brought it down -- ”

“He did _not_.” She swallowed. She hadn’t meant to say that, or say it with so much passion, but she couldn’t stand listening to one more person blame Gabe for something he didn’t do. Especially not today. “Find someone else to thank for the fall of Overwatch. It was not. Gabe. He was the last person it could’ve been.”

“So much faith despite the facts.”

“I knew him. He was like a father to me. He would _never_ do what they say he did. So if you all have some little Talon shrine to him, you need a new patron saint. You’re praying to the wrong man.”

“Hmm,” he said, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, though that was definitely a thinking sound he just made. Did it matter to Talon who actually caused the end of Overwatch? She figured all they would care about was that it had ended in the first place. “Then who ended Overwatch.”

Fareeha hadn’t been expecting that. She wasn’t sure she had an answer. “I don’t know.”

“If it wasn’t Reyes it was Morrison.”

“I don’t know,” she repeated quietly. “I don’t know what happened that day. Today.”

He looked at her, and she could feel the question hanging in the silence.

“This was the day they both died. The day _Gabe_ died. Jack managed to get out somehow.” She couldn’t hide the venom in her voice.

Reaper chuckled. “I thought you liked him.”

“I did.” Her voice was tight. “Until he resurfaced and didn’t bother to tell anyone what happened. Or drop by. Or let us know he wasn’t dead.” She shook her head, agitated now that she was thinking about it. “And he’s out there…he’s doing some fucked up things. The Jack I knew wouldn’t have done half that shit.”

“Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought. Maybe he changed.” There was something in Reaper’s voice, like he needed her to believe him…she noticed it, but she was too caught in frustration to focus on it.

“Maybe, but I don’t think I care. He lost my respect when he faked his death, that’s fucked up.” Fareeha gave a short, broken laugh. “At least Gabe can’t disappoint me like that. You know. He’s dead and that sucks, but he’s dead. It’s final. At least he’s not running around with an alter ego ignoring the people he supposedly loved.”

“I thought you cared for him.”

“I do.”

“You want him dead.”

“I don’t...sometimes I do wish he was alive. If Jack faked his death, why couldn’t Gabe? And he’s not a wanted mercenary like Jack he’s just…working in a costume shop somewhere in Mexico. Living life. It’s as happy as it is unrealistic.” She exhaled and raised her eyebrows. “But if he _did_ come back…god I’d punch him so hard. Losing him was just as hard as losing my mom and dad, and if he made me go through that a third time, for nothing? No.”

Reaper was silent.

She looked at him, eyebrows still raised. “You think punching him’s crazy?”

“I don’t really care,” he said in a voice that sounded like he cared. Someone else would always do that. Act like he didn’t give a shit when in reality he gave all the shits.

“When was the last time _you_ were punched?” She’d gladly take care of it if it had been too long.

“Can’t remember.” He paused. “Mercy tried. She failed.”

Fareeha couldn’t help but smile. Angela may have been a pacifist, but when she got mad, she got _mad_. “You sure she didn’t land anything? I spar with her. She’s rather good.”

“No.”

She didn’t know how, but she knew he was lying. It was almost a gut feeling, but the kind that came from experience and knowing a person well. Which was odd because she didn’t know him well. She didn’t. “She got you.”

“She did not.”

“Where?”

“Nowhere.”

Fareeha squinted. She knew how Angela fought, and how she reacted when was pissed. “The balls. She kneed you in the balls, didn’t she.”

His silence was all the confirmation she needed. Though she hadn’t seen it or taken any part in it, it still made her smile to think of her usually sweet girlfriend kneeing a masked terrorist in the balls. Fareeha could almost see Angela’s red face and angry little pout. It was good to know that she was still fighting.

But his silence seemed angry in a way that didn’t fit being kneed in the balls. “You don’t like her, do you. Angela.”

“Why would I.”

“She’s pretty likeable. You know. Literally all she does is try to help people.”

Reaper snorted.

Fareeha frowned. “I’m not saying she’s perfect, but, me, I could see why someone wouldn’t like me. I’ve intentionally injured and killed people. Angela doesn’t do that.”

“She’s Overwatch. I’m Talon,” he said flatly, as if that explained it, when clearly there was something more going on.

“I’m Overwatch,” she countered. “And you seem to like me.”

“Really.”

“Well.” Fareeha pursed her lips. “Maybe ‘like’ isn’t the right word. I don’t think you hate me the way I think you hate Angela.”

“That’s a low bar.”

“Yeah, apparently. But…” How could she articulate this in a way that didn’t sound completely crazy. “You haven’t threatened my life recently. You’re carrying on a conversation with me. You’re actually…kind of easy to talk to.”

He paused, weighing his words, deciding on taking a risk or not, then said quickly, “Yeah, I get that a lot. I’ve just got the kind of face you can trust.”

She laughed, and though it was short, more like a snort than a proper laugh, it was still laughter. Caused by Reaper. Fareeha froze, and she thought she felt him do the same, like some mistake had been made, making the little joke on his part, laughing at it on her part. Reaper was…kind of funny. Kind of enjoyable to talk to. And that was weird.

He opened a door and she walked into what looked like a typical briefing room, with several Talon agents and a woman in purple who looked bored and impatient lazily spinning on her chair. Fareeha noticed with a pang that the woman had Angela’s staff, or a replica, laying casually in her lap. She didn’t stop spinning when they walked in, though she did lock eyes with Reaper. “Are you ready yet?”

“Ready for what?” Fareeha asked before Reaper could respond.

“You’re going to make yourself useful.” He pushed her towards the table. “Sit.”

She did, though she looked between him and the other woman warily. Those two were the key players in this room, that much was obvious; the other agents were just here for backup. Or for carrying things like the large bag at their feet and a file. “How am I going to ‘make myself useful?’ I’m still injured.”

“We know.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty beat up.” With a smile that hinted of some shared secret she was using against him, the woman tossed the staff to Reaper. “Catch.”

He did easily, one-handed, but distastefully, like he didn’t want it anywhere near him let alone in his hand, and with a heavy, annoyed sigh that she’d even tossed it to him in the first place. Reaper nodded to one of the agents, who come forward and took the staff. The man had a medic’s cross on his arm, but a small one.

The medic had a look of concentration and mild confusion on his face as he turned the staff in his hands and investigated how to use it. Fareeha stood and grabbed the staff before anyone could stop her. “Just let me do it, it’ll be quicker.”

He frowned and looked between her and Reaper. “You’re not a medic.”

Fareeha bit back laughter. “You have no idea how to use that thing. I’m dating its creator. Being a medic or not has nothing to do with it.”

The man looked to Reaper, who shrugged. “Let her do it.”

At this point using the staff was almost instinctual. Angela had showed her exactly how to do it, even though Angela herself had almost always been the one doing the healing. It struck her that this was the closest she’d been to Angela in a week. She’d held this very staff in her hands.

“How long will this take?”

She glanced at Reaper, the beam focused on the gash in her side. “Since I’m not actively fighting, not long.”

“Hmph.” He was silent as she took care of the rest of the large injuries she could locate, but when she moved to a full-body heal she heard the frown in his voice. “What are you doing.”

“I’m sure I missed some things. And this helps with internal issues, fatigue, general full-body problems.”

“Are you sure about that.” When she looked at him in confusion, he added, “Putting that thing all over your body like that.”

“…yes? Angela does this all the time?”

“Hmm. You should be careful.” He said it almost without thinking, like telling her to be careful was just what he did. Reaper cleared his throat and said in a more disinterested voice, “I’ve heard nanites are dangerous.”

Fareeha gave a short, condescending laugh. “Anything can be dangerous if used improperly. This is low-level energy and Angela makes sure no one overuses it. Would you rather me pass out on the way to the base?” She tilted her head to the side. “Maybe I should.”

“Ha.” His voice was flat. “Finish up.”

She raised her eyebrows. He was short and mildly angry when it came to nanites, just like he was when it came to Angela. Fareeha powered down the staff and gave it a quick, practiced spin in her hand. “There. I’m finished. You want it?”

When he didn’t immediately respond (she’d suspected he wouldn’t volunteer to hold onto it), Sombra raised her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Over here, I need to give it to your girlfriend.”

Surprised and suddenly hopeful, Fareeha tossed it over. “You’re giving it to Angela? You’re going to see her? Have you seen her already, is she alright?”

Sombra caught it. “Yes, yes, yes, and yes.”

Good answers, but she was hoping for a little more detail. “Want to elaborate on any of those yeses?”

Reaper shut it down, which somehow she should have expected. “We don’t have time for this.”

He motioned to one of the agents, who sat a file down on the table in front of her. As he did so, Fareeha heard the other woman groan, and looked over to see her rolling her eyes dramatically. “Always so old fashioned, Reaps. You know paper is obsolete?”

“Sombra.”

She waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You can read that if you want, I’m sure it’s got more details than you need, your choice.” Sombra moved her hands like she was working at some invisible computer and a holographic map of a building rotated slowly above the table. Pharah knew that building.

“The Gibraltar Watchpoint. Why.”

“We’re going there.”

“You should still have access,” Sombra added onto Reaper’s three-word response.

“I’ve heard about you. Aren’t you supposed to be the best hacker in the world? Why do you need me to get in?”

She made a face. “I could get in. It’s just a lot of work, your monkey’s AI program takes forever to hack.”

“Okay, I walk in the front door with Reaper, an internationally wanted terrorist, standing right next to me. What a plan.”

“I rigged him up a little cloaking device. He’ll be invisible.”

Reaper held up his hand before Fareeha could ask another question. “This will be quicker if you’re quiet. I’m going to be moving through the base, which we know is still sparsely occupied at this point. You will act as a distraction.”

“A distraction?”

“The few members of Overwatch present will gather to you. You will keep them with you.”

“Wait.” Fareeha’s voice was cautiously hopeful. “Many of those at Gibraltar were on yesterday’s mission...does that mean they survived?”

“Perhaps.”

“Tell me. I need to know.”

Reaper paused for an obscene amount of time before saying, “They all survived. They were not the targets.”

“Mercy and I were,” she finished quietly. That was unsettling. But at least her friends were alive; that was one bit of good news. “I won’t be a very good distraction.”

“They will want to see you.”

“Yeah. They will.” She spoke slowly, enunciating like he was a particularly dumb child. “And then when they ask where I’ve been for a week, and how I’m no longer injured, they’re going to know something’s wrong. They’re not stupid.”

“Oh you can spin a good story,” Sombra said dismissively.

“Like what.”

“Up to you, babe, you’re smart,” Sombra shrugged as she stood and headed out the door. “Gotta go. Your lil Mercy needs her staff.”

Reaper seemingly ignored her, but Fareeha could hear his slight, exasperated sigh. It was a sound she’d heard a lot, running around Overwatch bases as a little girl, from Gabe, especially; he’d tried to keep up that gruff, badass persona of his, but he couldn’t hide that he loved her. It had to be talking about Gabe earlier, that was why she was thinking about him. It wasn’t because sometimes Reaper reminded her of...no, she wasn’t even going to think it.

“Tell them you and Mercy were captured, but you escaped. As long as it’s not the truth and you keep them with you, I really don’t care what you say.” His dark gaze somehow managed to intensify. “If you warn them. If you give them any hint of why you’re there or what has happened to you. Mercy _will_ lose more than an arm.”

Fareeha shook her head. “No. This isn’t a good plan. This is why you all keep getting your asses kicked. They’re going to know something’s wrong.”

“It will work. You’ll get me in. You’ll get us out.” Reaper motioned to one of the Talon agents, who picked up a large black bag from the ground and brought it over to her. “Your Raptora suit. Wear it.”

“That is for battle.”

“You may need to fight.”

“Fight Overwatch?” She scoffed. “Not a chance.”

He stepped closer and looked down at her. “You will if you have to. Put the suit on. We’re leaving.”

Fareeha looked around the room then back at him, eyebrows raised. “Can you all step out?”

“Nice try,” Reaper said, amused. “We’re not leaving you alone with that.”

“Fair.” It wasn’t even like she had to get naked to put on her suit, nor had she really thought she’d be able to get them to leave the room; she just had to take every little chance she got no matter how slim the chances were of success. Maybe she would get lucky.

Putting her suit back on felt almost as good as getting healed by Angela’s staff. There was that same comforting sense of familiarity and routine, with added power but also tarnished. She might have to turn that power against people she would give her life for. Fareeha held her helmet at her side. “Let’s get this done.”


	6. Chapter 6

_ONE WEEK LATER_

“Wait, let me look at your arm.” It wasn’t so much a question as an order. Angela put her hand on the soldier’s chest and made him sit back down when he tried to stand. He looked unsure, but held out his arm for her anyways. She spent a moment investigating his arm, as much as she could when she only had one of her own, and her small frown deepened. “Did you know your broken arm didn’t heal properly?”

He gave a small shrug. He was young, and sitting on an exam table with his shirt off and a bandage on his stomach, he could’ve been a new Overwatch recruit rather than Talon. She could hear Gabriel muttering in her ear about helping the enemy, and true, she almost wanted to do a shoddy job here, but this young man was still just that: a young man. A person. And she couldn’t overcome her intrinsic need to help people.

“I broke it in the field, but there was another mission so they had to patch it up quickly.”

“And no one else could go on this mission?” she asked with a slight smile, eyebrow raised.

He laughed slightly and ducked his head. Just like Lena did when she’d done something she shouldn’t have but didn’t want to admit it. “The doctor said I was fine.”

“Well the doctor lied.” She shook her head and sighed. “Just because you are well enough to fight does not mean you should.”

“They, uh, don’t really like excuses here.”

Angela pursed her lips. “Wanting to take care of your body is not an excuse.”

“If you can fight you fight.” He shrugged again. “It’s how we do things.”

“And why do you fight?”

He lifted his chin and seemed to harden slightly. “I’m not going to reveal Talon secrets to --”

She shook her and squeezed his shoulder. “No, I’m not asking about Talon’s goal or your secret plans, I’m asking about you. Why do _you_ fight?”

“It’s better than other mercenary work.”

“How so?”

“Look around.” He gestured at the clean, high-tech exam room. “Talon has more funding than anyone out there right now. There’s no better option.”

“Hm.” She could think of plenty of better options, like Overwatch, for one. But at least he, like Sombra, wasn’t a true believer in Talon’s cause. Angela was sure there were plenty of zealots within their ranks, but she had a feeling that most of them were like this man, just working for Talon with the same passion one might have for working at a grocery store. It was just a job.

“Are...we finished?” he asked.

“Almost.” Angela gave him a stern look before he could even think about standing. “Be careful with those stitches. See someone about your arm. And _don’t_ go on any missions until your stomach is healed and you get your arm taken care of. Light training only. I know you won’t listen but even a day or two of rest will help.”

Someone banged on the door and Angela rolled her eyes with an exasperated look. “Can you wait a minute?” She turned back to her patient. “Got it? If anyone gives you crap, send them to me -- oh, what the _hell_.”

Sombra walked, blasé, spinning Angela’s staff. Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Is this still the first guy?”

“Yes, he needed my attention, give me that!” She snatched her staff out of Sombra’s hand. She looked back with a slightly stressed smile. “You can go. Just listen to me, ok?”

He nodded and quickly left the room. Angela didn’t miss the nervous look on his face as he passed Sombra. She frowned. “Why is he scared of you?”

“He’s smart,” she responded with a hair flip. She hopped up on the exam table and sat criss-cross applesauce. “I thought you said _our_ doctors were slow, he would’ve been in and out in like 30 minutes.”

“And that’s why I had to give him more attention,” Angela sighed, can’t repeat exasperated again but she still is feelin that. “You don’t take very good care of your agents.”

“They’re disposable,” Sombra shrugged.

She wasn’t surprised, but she was still disappointed. “They’re people. They’re working for you. I think they’d deserve some basic human respect.”

“They know what they signed up for.”

“Do they? We didn’t do this at Overwatch. We _don’t_ do this at Overwatch.”

“Listen, don’t act like Overwatch was or is full of saints. I’ve heard stories. You push people too far and send them to die just like we do.”

“That only happened when it had to. And when people volunteered for it. It wasn’t forced on them.” Angela’s voice was short. Hard. She knew Overwatch had its problems, but to compare it to Talon...her brows drew together. “Who told you stories?”

“Y’know, Widow, others, it’s not important,” she responded with a wave of her hand.

“I know what you and _araña_  used to get up to,” Sombra smiled.

“She talks about that?” Angela asked. Her voice was quieter and cautiously hopeful.

“She doesn’t talk about much unless I ask her. And believe me, I ask her.”

“What has she told you?”

Sombra giggled. “Everything. Including how you met.”

Angela blushed. “Oh no. Not the gay panic.”

“Yes, the gay panic.”

“Fuck. She said she wouldn’t tell anyone about that.”

“Why not? It’s very cute.”

She buried her face in her hands. “Please no.”

Angela didn’t have to look up to hear the grin in Sombra’s voice when she spoke.  “She found you downing wine like no one’s business, and when you turned around and saw her you sprayed it _all_ over her dress.”

“Not _all_ over,” Angela peeped, looking at Sombra through her fingers. “Just the top.”

“Her boobs.”

“…yeah.”

“And then what happened next, tell me.”

“I’d rather not…”

“Please, I want to hear it from you.”

Angela sighed heavily, running her fingers back through her hair. “I tried to help her clean it up, but I ended up just kind of pawing at her boobs, and she smiled at me and said I was cute and I ran away. I invented gay panic then and there.”

“Mmm, nu-uh.” Sombra shook her head. “Imagine being a baby bi in Los Muertos, literally surrounded every day by beautiful badasses.”

“And you’re saying Overwatch _wasn’t_ full of beautiful badasses?” Angela laughed.

“Maybe when you were first around, but everyone left is old and crusty.”

“Reinhardt and Torb are the only old ones, and Reinhardt is a dad so it’s ok. And…well, I guess Jack.” She bit her lip. Everyone knew he was Soldier: 76, and she wasn’t the only member of Overwatch more than a little upset that he hadn’t spoken to them. It hurt more today than any other. The day they’d thought he’d died with Gabriel; now Reyes was the only one they mourned.

“You’re sad. Does old Soldier make you sad?”

Angela shook her head slowly. “Yes, but…not as much as…”

“Not as much as what?”

“I don’t really want to talk about this with you.”

Sombra patted the space next to her on the exam table. “Hop up.”

“I’d rather not.”

She sighed dramatically. “Who else are you going to talk to?”

Angela rolled her tongue in her mouth. “I don’t need to talk. Not to you.”

“If you don’t, you’re just going to sit there and be sad, and that’s no fun. Come on.” Sombra patted the table again.

She squeezed the hand she had left. She was conflicted. Sombra was part of Talon, who was responsible for her being here, which she hated. But she didn’t hate Sombra for some reason. And now that everything was on her mind…it was going to keep running around and around in her head. She needed to let it out. Maybe talking to Sombra would get the woman on her side. Maybe talking to Sombra would give away secrets. Maybe it would make her feel better. Or make things worse.

How could talking about a dead man make things worse?

Angela gingerly sat next to Sombra, legs swinging. Her voice was quiet but hard. She didn’t look at Sombra, sounding more like she was talking to herself and no one else was present. “Gabriel Reyes died on this day. And Jack Morrison too, we thought. But. He hasn’t reached out to anyone. He’s choosing to stay away from us. Gabriel didn’t have that choice.”

“So you miss him.”

“Gabriel? Every day. Fareeha misses him more, he was like a father to her, but…I miss him too. He was like…an obnoxious uncle, or an asshole big brother, I don’t know. He was grumpy and rude and glowered a lot but he was kind, and he cared about people. So, every year, today, we remember him.”

“We?”

“Overwatch. What’s left us that knew him. So he’s been on my mind, and I’m not able to share that with everyone because I’m here, and…” she shook her head and laughed slightly. The chagrined laugh of someone who had a thought but realized instantly how silly or impossible it was.

“And what?”

“It’s…now that I’m trying to say it out loud, it’s…impossible.” Well, maybe not impossible, a hopeful voice whispered, but she shut that down. She’d failed him. The signs that had felt so sure in the moment now seemed insubstantial and faint, delusions almost, the result of grief and guilt mingling together with foolish hope. “It’s stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” Sombra nudged Angela with her shoulder. “I know about your biggest gay panic. This _can’t_ be worse.”

“Reaper reminds me of Gabriel,” she said quickly before she could stop herself from speaking those words aloud. She corrected herself. “He _reminded_ me of Gabriel. I’m just…I’m projecting what I want to see.”

Sombra raised her eyebrows. “Reaper reminds you of Gabriel?” She didn’t sound completely disbelieving, just like she was asking for clarification.

“He used one of Gabriel’s phrases and his laugh reminded me of Gabriel’s, it’s…god, he’s _dead_. I…I want him to be alive. It’s not even impossible…do you know what I did for Genji?”

“You brought him back from the brink of death and turned him into a cyborg ninja.” Her eyes widened. “Reaper is Gabriel Reyes but skeleton cyborg zombie ninja version?”

A slight, sad smile curled Angela’s lips. “I don’t think so. I…tried to revive Gabriel. When I found him. With the nanites in my staff…he was dead when I found him, I think, but I’d hoped…it didn’t work, obviously. And I don’t think it’s meant to. And you can tell your doctors or scientists that are working on my staff that. It doesn’t bring people back. I wish it did, but, if it couldn’t save Gabriel, it won’t save anyone.” She sighed roughly. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. He’s gone, I’m away from everyone I love, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“What do you want to talk about then?”

“Nothing. I want to brood silently and wallow in self-pity.”

“Not even Amélie?”

Angela’s brows drew together and she looked at Sombra, interested despite herself. “That’s the first time anyone has used her name here.”

“She goes by Lacroix. I call her araña, among other things.”

“But not Amélie.”

“No. She doesn’t like that one.”

Angela gripped the table with her hand. She really had wanted to stop talking this woman who acted so friendly despite holding her hostage, but she couldn’t resist talking about Amélie, and she had a feeling Sombra knew that. “Why not? It’s her name.”

“She doesn’t see it that way,” Sombra shrugged. “She’s focused on the present and the future, not the past.”

“But she talks about the past.”

“Like I said, only when I ask her, cause I’m a nosy friend.”

“You’re her friend?” Angela scoffed. “I didn’t think you had friends.”

“I’m offended, firstly,” she responded, faux-shocked. “Araña is maybe my _best_ friend. Just don’t tell Reapy I said that, he’ll be offended.”

“She said she doesn’t feel emotion now. You need emotion to be friends with someone.”

“I’ve got enough for both of us,” Sombra winked.

“No.” Angela surprised herself with the harshness of her voice. She hadn’t expected to be angry, but here she was. “You’re not her friend.”

“And…why not?”

“Do you know what they did to her?”

“Do you?”

 _Something horrible._ “Tell me.”

“They made her strong.”

“No, I don’t want that bullshit,” Angela snapped. “That’s what she said. Tell me what they did to her to make her a killer. Tell me what they did to…to make her murder her husband in their bed and abandon Overwatch. Abandon me.”

“What’s it matter?” Was Sombra uncomfortable? She looked it, a little, though she was trying and mostly succeeding at hiding it behind a mask of nonchalance.

“I don’t think she’ll tell me. I don’t think she even knows, she forgot what happened the two weeks Talon had her.”

“And why would I know?”

“You seem to know everything. I talked to you, now you talk to me. That’s only fair.”

“She was brainwashed,” Sombra sighed. “Made into a sleeper agent and programmed to kill Agent Gerard Lacroix, then return to Talon where they took away her emotions and turned her into a lethal assassin.”

“If you know they did that to someone you consider a friend, how can you support Talon.” Angela spoke flatly, plainly. To her, that was nothing short of betrayal.

Sombra looked at her nails. “That was before my time. There’s nothing I can do about what’s already happened.”

“You can’t use that as an excuse,” she said, frustrated. “Don’t call her your friend. That’s not what friends do.”

“Then show me,” Sombra responded smoothly.

“What.”

“Show me what friends do.” She tilted her head and smiled at Angela. “I think we could be good friends.”

Angela frowned. She hadn’t been expecting that. Well…maybe she had, just not worded like that. Sombra seemed like the type to try to make alliances wherever she could. “What would you get out of that?”

“You’re smart, important, and have influence, here, at Overwatch, in the wider world. I’ve always wanted a friend like that.”

“Friend,” she said dryly. “Right.”

“You’re not very excited,” Sombra pouted. “I can change that. Want to know how Pharah’s doing?”

Angela couldn’t hide the immediate hunger in her eyes. “Yes.”

“She’s all better now. Used your staff to heal herself up. She’s worried about you too.”

“But she’s safe,” Angela breathed. “Good. I was worried.”

“Why? You’ve held up your end of the bargain so far.”

“It’s hard to work well with only one hand. I figured Talon would use that against me, tell me I wasn’t working fast enough, that I’d need to do more to keep Fareeha alive, or see her.”

“Well, _amiga_ ,” Sombra said with a smile, “if you’re good, and if we’re friends, we might be able to fix that.”

“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

“I mean that everyone has a robot arm nowadays. Maybe we could get you one too.”

That...wouldn’t be terrible. Maybe. Depending on how they did it. She’d seen first hand the difficulty of bionic limbs, but...having her arm, her _hand_ back sounded amazing. Angela settled on an ambivalent response. “Maybe.”

“I thought you would be more excited.” There was that little pout again, like an upset child.

“It would be nice. I just don’t trust anyone here enough to get my hopes up.”

“You don’t trust _me_?”

Angela raised her eyebrows, as if to say, seriously? “You have holos of Fareeha and me having sex. You work for Talon. You’re generally shady. It’ll be kind of hard for me to trust you.”

Sombra brushed her off. “Psh, I have holos of everyone important fucking, those are the best kind of holos to have.”

“That’s still creepy.”

“I suppose from some perspectives…hm, well, how can I get you to trust me? What do you want?”

Angela was silent for a moment. What did she want? Mostly things that were out of her reach. “I assume you can’t free us?”

She shook her head sadly. “Not today.”

“Or…even just Fareeha?” she asked, already knowing the answer. She sighed and shook her head. “Ok. What if…can you make sure she’s treated better? And…can you tell me how she is, and tell her how I am…not knowing is what makes me worry the most.”

Sombra tilted her head and tapped her chin. “I can do that.” She winked. “ _Amiga_.”

“Really?” Angela responded cautiously.

“Of course. We can get her a little room like yours.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you.” She bit her lip. “And what do you expect from me?”

Sombra shrugged. “I expect you’ll return the favor. You won’t be a prisoner here forever.”

“I won’t?”

“Oh no, I doubt it. Between you and Pharah, there’s a good chance you’ll either get out of here, or someone will come break you out. Or you’ll be here so long you’ll just be a part of Talon.”

“I’m thinking the first one,” Angela said sourly.

“Mmm, we’ll see. Reap’s got plans for you both.”

“Reaper?” Her chest tightened. She still couldn’t completely rid her mind of the shadows of Gabriel in the terrorist. Well, that and the thought of Talon’s killer having any sort of plans for Fareeha and her. Obviously Talon had plans for them, why else would they both be here, but there was something vaguely sinister about thinking of Reaper making special plans for them. “You wouldn’t want to share what those are, would you.”

“Oh I can’t upstage him, that would be rude.”

She rolled her eyes slightly. Sombra treated this all like a game, like “Reapy” was just her grumpy old work buddy and they were working out some elaborate office prank. Angela didn’t treat matters of life and death so lightly. “Sure. Don’t upstage him. But can you tell me about Fareeha now? More than just that she’s safe?”

“Sure sure. Want to see her?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Sombra raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I knew you would say that. Lucky for you I did a little filmwork earlier.” She pulled up a holovid, and at first Angela was confused because it just looked like a spinning room. “Ignore that, I just got bored. There’s your girl.”

And there she was, looking guarded as she entered the room with Reaper, but she was on two feet and breathing and beautiful. Angela looked on with bated breath, listening to Fareeha hold her own (of course she did, she was the toughest person Angela knew), watching her heal herself (she’d needed it and her technique was perfect just like Angela had taught her), squeezing her fist and swallowing when Sombra evidently left the room and she could no longer see Fareeha.

Angela was silent for a few minutes. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. “Thank you.”

Sombra spoke more gently than Angela had heard her do before. “Not a problem. And…Reaper will take care of her. So don’t worry.”

“I didn’t know he was the caring type,” she said with a slight, sad laugh.

“Appearances,” Sombra shrugged. “He looks after the people he’s in charge of.”

Like Gabriel did, her mind whispered, but she tightened her lips and shut that shit down. “Fareeha can take care of herself. And it’s Overwatch. They won’t hurt her.”

Sombra looked like she’d noticed Angela’s moment of internal struggle, but she didn’t comment on it, just raised her eyebrows and said, “Hopefully not.”

“They won’t. Unlike Talon, we care about each other.”

“They won’t be the tiniest bit upset when they find her working with Reaper?”

Angela swallowed. “They still wouldn’t hurt her.”

“They wouldn’t defend themselves?”

“Stop.” Angela held up her hand, eyes closed, mouth tight. “Just stop. Please.”

Sombra gently bumped her shoulder. “Ok.”

Angela looked at her from under her eyelashes, a little suspicious. “Ok?”

“Yeah. Ok. You asked me to stop, so.”

“Right.” She shook her head a little. Honestly, everything Sombra did was confusing, and she had a feeling that was exactly the way she wanted it to be. She bounced between playful and kind and frustrating like it was nothing, but at least she never seemed malicious. Or she hid it. Angela couldn’t tell yet. “Why are you even here babysitting me? Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Nope.” She booped Angela on her nose, grinning at the surprised look on her face. “You’re fun, Mercy. I like fun.”

Angela blinked, still a little caught off-guard by the nose boop. “I’m fun. That’s not the word I would use.”

“You’re fun to me,” Sombra amended. “You’re different. I like that.”

“I have a girlfriend,” Angela said, arching her eyebrows.

Sombra laughed. “Yeah, I know, she’s cute.”

“So…do I get to see her when she gets back?” She tapped her leg with her fingers. “She might need to see a doctor.”

“Probably.”

“Really?” Angela couldn’t hide the excitement in her voice. It felt like forever since she’d been able to look Fareeha in the eyes, hold her close, and tell her how much she loved her.

“I don’t see why not. Just behave while they’re gone, do what you’re told.”

“I have been.”

“Oh I know. And really, while they work on your staff, maybe work on your robot arm, there’s not too much for you to do. Just stay in here and see some patients.”

“You went through all that trouble to get Fareeha and I and all you want me to do is see patients?” She was a little incredulous. It seemed like a waste of time if that were the case.

“For now.” Sombra touched her ear where there must have been a comm, then hopped off the table and went to the door. “Here’s your next one.”

It was Amélie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please forgive any formatting or other small errors, I'm posting this as quickly as I can from shitty motel Wi-Fi


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a meaty chapter as a thank you for dealing with the long-ass gaps between updates :)

Fareeha had carried many people in her Raptora suit. Mostly Angela, but plenty of allies and injured soldiers too. People she cared about or at least wanted to protect.

Reaper was not one of those people. Arms hooked under his armpits as she held him in front of her, Fareeha descended towards a rocky outcropping near the entrance to the Watchpoint. She considered just letting go and watching him crash on the ground, but that would be as good as dropping Angela to her death.

She did let him go a little more roughly than necessary when they hit the ground. He made a noise under his breath, somewhere between a growl and a groan, like the noise a grumpy old man would make when something rattled his old bones. Good. He deserved that.

“Was that necessary?” Even his voice was cranky.

Fareeha didn’t think about how Gabe would be old enough now to dislike unnecessary jostling. Gabe was dead. Her friends were probably mourning him and celebrating his life at this very moment. He was dead.

“Yes,” she snapped, trying to cover up her too-long moment of silent thought. “Do you have the cloaking device?”

“Yes.” He sounded mildly amused. Reaper paused for a moment then asked in the same tone, “Is everything okay?”

She considered putting him in a headlock and leaving him here for dead. “I’m betraying the people that might as well be my family. What do you think.”

“Some people are fine betraying their family.”

“You should know by now I’m not one of those people.”

“Haven’t you betrayed them already?” When she looked at him with hard eyes but remained silent, he continued, “This is only different because you have to look them in the eyes.”

“You’re right.” It sounded like it pained her to admit, and it did. “Saving Angela means betraying them. Of course that’s harder to do when I actually have to see them.”

She saw his arm move, and for a moment, it looked like he was going to reach out and lay his gloved hand on her shoulder. He pulled back, and it was a frustrated movement, like he didn’t want to pull back, and like he was a little mad that he had to, and mad that he’d even reached out in the first place. Like a man who wanted to show affection but couldn’t, and was upset with himself for even thinking of doing something so soft. Like a man she knew.

His voice was short. “Just do what you’re here to do.”

Open-mouthed and shocked, Fareeha was left with only a jumble of confused thoughts and emotions as Reaper activated his cloaking device and disappeared. Even that action, ghosting away from a moment of too much emotion, added another piece of evidence to the mounting pile she was having a harder and harder time ignoring. Denial wasn’t in her nature, but she didn’t feel she had a choice. If she was wrong, she’d only be causing herself heartache, and if she was right… Fully realizing what that evidence really meant would mean confronting truths she didn’t even want to think about.

She knew he was still there. She knew he was watching her. And yet, she let her shock, confusion, hope, fear, and stubborn denial play out on her face before swallowing it all down. If she was right, he needed to see the pain he was causing her. If she was wrong, let him think she was having a moment of weakness; let him underestimate her.

“The doors will close quickly,” Fareeha said as she walked. She looked straight ahead. “I hope that cloak is as good as Sombra says.”

No response. She couldn’t even hear him breathing. Either he had run off and left her alone or this was actually going to work and he was going to be able to slip in with no one noticing.

She reached the door. This was the moment. Protect Angela or protect whatever Overwatch secrets Reaper was trying to steal. Her mom, Jack, and Gabe had never agreed on much, but she knew they’d be in agreement here: she was making the wrong choice. No, they wouldn’t, she thought to herself stubbornly. Maybe they would choose Overwatch over the kind of love she felt for Angela, but would they choose Overwatch over her? Jack, maybe. But then again she was never as close to him. Her mother loved Overwatch but she loved her daughter more than anything in the world. And Gabe. He cared about people more fiercely than he would admit.

Her choice had already been made, though, from the moment she’d thrown her rocket launcher in the snow and let Talon take her rather than see Angela shot in the head. She exhaled, then in one decisive motion, punched in her access code, put her thumb on the pad, and held her eye to the scanner.

“Agent Fareeha Amari.” The AI’s voice almost brought tears to her eyes. That did not bode well for the rest of the mission. “Access restricted. Internal override required.”

She froze, then cursed herself under her breath. She should’ve expected this or something like it. Two agents couldn’t disappear or be captured and still be able to waltz back into the Watchpoint. Maybe they could have, once, but even though she was a kid at the time she still remembered what had happened to Amélie and Gérard Lacroix.

A hesitant voice came over the speaker. “Fareeha?”

Her hand went to her mouth, and the tears brought to the surface by Athena now threatened to spill over. “Winston? Yes, it’s me. It’s me.”

She could hear him breathing, like he had hopped up and started running. “I’m on my way.”

A moment later the door opened and she’d jumped into his arms. She thought she’d be able to hold back the tears just a little longer, but she couldn’t help crying into his chest. Winston. _Winston_. Warm and kind and familiar after a week in hell. He sniffled as he held her tightly, his squeeze just as desperate and relieved as hers.

He set her down, both of them wiping away tears, and she noticed the doors were closed behind her. She didn’t know whether she hoped Reaper made it in or not.

Think of the devil. She heard Reaper’s voice in her ear. “I’m in.”

Winston put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, like he didn’t want to not be touching her. Never too good at hiding his emotions, his face showed his struggle not to cry, his relief, the hesitation and confusion as he tried to figure out what to say, or what order to say and ask all the things he wanted to.

She beat him to it. She knew what she needed to ask. “Is everyone okay?”

He looked confused for a moment. “Uh…oh, the mission. Right. Yes. We secured the base, and everyone’s fine it’s just, uh, taking a little longer on the recovery since…” _Since Angela wasn’t here._ They both knew what he meant, but he didn’t want to say it, and she was a little glad. The fewer reminders that Angela was with Talon instead of here at Overwatch where they both belonged the better.

“Yeah,” she swallowed. That was all she could say to that. But the rest, that everyone was alright, and they’d even achieved the goal of their mission, that brought a sigh of relief. “Good. I was worried…but good.”

Winston nodded. “We handled things.” He hesitated. He had something to ask, but he didn’t want to. She had a feeling what the question would be, and it was the one she’d been trying to figure out an answer for. A lie, rather. “Fareeha…where’s Angela?”

She swallowed again, hands flexing at her sides. _Working for Talon against her will._ “I’m not sure. I think she’s alive. But. She’s not with me.”

He frowned at that and squeezed her shoulder again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Still, that’s…” She saw him stop himself, swallow, and refocus. “I’m sorry. I was too excited to see you…protocol. We have protocol.”

Fareeha smiled slightly at his hesitation, though that smile soured slightly as she realized his newness to leadership, his still wanting to be his friends’ friend and not their leader was what was going to make this so painfully easy. He was going to slip and let her get away with coming into the base after a week of no contact and he’d probably accept whatever shitty excuse or story she gave too; her lying wasn’t going to cross his mind. If Jack was still in charge, or even her mother, Gabe, one of the other commanding officers were filling in, she’d already be in a debriefing room going over the full account of every day she’d been gone. She wouldn’t be standing here chatting.

“So…Fareeha…do you remember what happened to you after we lost contact?”

“Yes.” Then she realized, with an audible sigh, why he had asked that specific question rather than ‘what happened to you after we lost contact?’ “I remember, Winston. This isn’t an Amélie Lacroix situation.”

He laughed, a little nervously. “I didn’t think so, but…”

“You had to ask,” she shrugged.

“So…what happened?”

Her mouth tightened. There it was. Point blank. The question she didn’t want to answer.

He saw her reaction, which was fine with her, and his gaze softened. “It might be hard, but…it was a week, Fareeha. You just…disappeared. No one’s heard from you.”

“You need to distract the others. Don’t let the monkey keep you there,” Reaper growled.

“I know,” she said quietly, responding to both Winston and Reaper. “I know. It would just…be nice to see everyone first. To not have to talk about it so soon. Just enjoy getting to be with the people I love again.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Fareeha…there’s protocol. For agents disappearing or losing contact after missions, we have to go over things. We, _I_ , need to know what happened.”

“You do,” she agreed. “But let’s be honest. I’m going to tell you what happened. Then I’ll see everyone, they’ll have a million questions, and I’ll just have to repeat everything. I’d rather just get it all over with in one go.”

He looked concerned and conflicted, but she was pretty sure his desire to take care of her, especially since he’d known her since she was a child, would win over protocol. Besides, what she suggested seemed perfectly reasonable. Or it would seem reasonable to him, trusting, who loved her, and wouldn’t suspect the possibility of her having anything but pure intentions.

“Alright, Fareeha.” He shook his head and smiled slightly. “They’d find out you’re here anyway. I don’t think we’d have one minute alone in the debriefing room before being interrupted.”

Her smile was rueful. “Yeah I think you’re right.” She walked beside him as they headed through the Watchpoint’s halls. It loomed so much larger and emptier than it had when she was a child, now that it wasn’t bustling with agents. They barely used any of the space now that there were so few of them. Still, though, it ached with familiarity. “How’s…everyone doing? Not physically, I mean, but…”

“It’s been tough,” he admitted. “The Swiss base being today, and then the longer you and Angela have been gone…”

“Of course,” she murmured. What could she say, it was about to get tougher? The anniversary of a friend’s death and the fall of the organization they all loved, the disappearance of two more friends, and now one of them was also a traitor too? _She_ was a traitor?

They came into what had become the hub of the new Overwatch within the Watchpoint, an open room with tables and computers and big screens, where they worked but didn’t live. With a pillow tossed on a table, a rumpled blanket cast on a chair, empty wrappers and bottles dotting the floor, and the acrid scent of too many bodies in a space together with too few showers, this place looked lived-in in a way it usually did not.

She was hit with a sense of urgency, desperation, and aching sadness as she stopped a few steps in, shocked by the sudden sight of almost everyone she loved in a room together after a week of loneliness. Torbjorn was at a computer, Genji bent over behind him white-knuckling his chair with one hand and pointing at the screen with the other. Reinhardt was passed out at the table, which she knew he only did if he’d been up all night. She saw the tire in front of a large screen, surrounded by banana peels and empty jars of peanut butter, evidence of Winston stress-eating, and every few seconds the blur darting around the room would pause and she could see Lena looking at what others were doing, bouncing in place, talking to herself, nervous tics.

Of course Lena was the first one that noticed her. Well, she almost ran into Fareeha. “Winston, where’d you go? Did you find anything out – oh, hiya Fareeha.” She inhaled to keep on going, talking to Winston, then she froze, something she rarely did, eyes meeting Fareeha’s as her jaw dropped.

“Fareeha’s home!” Lena shouted before literally jumping on Fareeha to hug her.

Fareeha was careful not to squeeze too tight, given that she was wearing her armor and didn’t want to crush the smaller woman, but she still held her close, face pressed on top of Lena’s head into her ever-mussed hair. Once again she couldn’t stop herself from crying. Really, at this point, she wasn’t even trying to stop herself.  

When she lifted her head, she was surrounded. Torbjorn hung back but gave her an uncharacteristically teary smile. Genji gave her a tight hug, and Reinhardt pulled her into one of his famed embraces. She saw the tears in his eyes when he gently set her down.

She put her hand over her mouth, smiling, tears coursing down her cheeks as she looked at these people she loved so much. Fareeha moved her hand and opened her mouth, but she suddenly couldn’t find the words to say how she felt, and with a laugh and a fresh stream of tears, she covered her mouth again, shaking her head. They knew.

“You’re alive.” Genji’s low voice was thick with relief. “You’re _alive_.”

“We knew that.” Lena punched Genji’s shoulder and shot him a glare. She looked at Fareeha with a much kinder expression. “We never thought anything else. We knew you were still out there.”

“We’ve been looking for you,” Reinhardt said earnestly, desperate to show her they hadn’t abandoned her. “All week, we haven’t stopped.”

Fareeha laughed and waved her hand in front of her nose. “Yeah, I can tell. I guess that’s what happens when you put the five nastiest people in Overwatch together in a room for a week.”

They were all taken aback. Torbjorn was the first to gather himself. “Perhaps I am a little more fragrant than most.”

“Well _I’m_ not!” Lena protested indignantly.

Fareeha raised her eyebrow. “Lena, you can’t slow down long enough to take a shower, Genji, you’re too lazy, Winston, you live on that nasty tire, and Reinhardt…you’re okay, I guess, relatively, but I’ve heard horror stories from my mom about your body odor. Really, guys, this is a health hazard, I’m going to sic Angela on all of you.”

They all froze, Fareeha included, though for different reasons. Her friends froze because they were unsure; was Angela here? Did this mean she was alive? Was it a slip? Fareeha did because she _had_ slipped, caught up in making fun of them like nothing was wrong, for a moment she hadn’t been thinking about how Angela was being held captive by terrorists.

No one said anything. No one wanted to ask the question that was now on their minds. She saw Genji’s gaze flick behind her towards the door, wondering, silently asking if Angela was going to walk right in just like Fareeha had.

“Angela’s not here,” she whispered. Her mouth tightened. “She’s alive. I hope. But she’s not with me. She’s not about to walk through that door and everything be fine.”

“What happened to her? And to you?” Reinhardt was all fatherly concern.

Reaper’s voice almost made her jump. “Don’t even think about telling them to truth.”

“I’m not stupid,” she muttered, and for a moment she cursed herself, but someone else had entered the room and started talking, so no one had noticed her slip.

 “No word from my contacts yet but I _know_ they’re out there. Any luck here?” She’d know that drawl anywhere, even though she hadn’t heard it in far too long.

“Jesse?”

Her voice was faint, choked, the way someone sounded right before they burst into tears. But he still heard her. He froze, mouth slightly ajar, looking at her with disbelief, then hope, then joy.

They ran at each other and Fareeha cried into his shoulder like she had when she’d had a nightmare, her first girlfriend broke up with her, her mother died. His shoulder was something of a home to her. And he was a home to her. One she hadn’t been to in forever, true, but that was the thing about coming home. It didn’t matter how long it had been.

And she held him too. She could feel his muffled cries in her shoulder, joy, he acted so tough, tried to be a badass with no emotions, but he was always so bad at it, especially with people he cared about, with her. They squeezed each other like if they let go they would drift apart.

They lifted their heads and looked at each other, both smiling slightly, an exhale of laughter, when they saw how much they had both been crying.

“I thought you were…” His whisper faded. He didn’t want to say it, nor did he need to. She wasn’t.

“Well I’m here, right?” Her laugh ended up a little more broken than she’d like. She was here, yes, but under false pretenses and not for nearly long enough. “And _you’re_ here. I thought you were out being a menace in the wild west.”

“I was,” Jesse winked, though his attempt at suave was marred when he had to wipe his runny, sniffly nose with the back of his hand. “But I was gonna drop by for a visit today anyways, then I heard about you and Angela, so I came by earlier.”

“So when I miss you, I just need to disappear and you’ll suddenly show up?”

He squeezed her shoulder. “You know you can count on me.”

Fareeha swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, cowboy, I know.” She swallowed again, but more pained. “I heard you when you walked in. Dipping into Blackwatch skills?”

“Never dipped out,” he laughed, a sad laugh. He looked out at the door, just like everyone else had, but this time Fareeha didn’t need to say it. “Angela’s not with you, is she.”

“No.”

“Well damn, what happened to you? If you turned up I thought it would be together.”

Fareeha bit her lip as she looked at Jesse then back at everyone else. They all wanted to know. And they deserved to know, but she couldn’t tell them the truth, just the lie that would save Angela’s life. “Talon has Angela,” she whispered. “They took her.”

Stunned silence met her words.

Lena was the first to recover, though it was slow by her standards, and even when she spoke she was far more unsure than usual. “They…took her?”

Fareeha gave a short, tense nod. Her voice was tight. “After we were shot down, we were ambushed, and then...she was gone.” Her mouth wavered and she let it, just as she let her eyes shine with a different sort of tears than she’d just been crying.

“Oh Fareeha…” Lena whispered.

Reinhardt looked like he was going to start crying too. “That’s terrible.”

Jesse had the beginnings of a small frown on his mouth; he wasn’t quite fooled and she wasn’t surprised.

“Do better,” Reaper growled in her ear, but it sounded like he was working on something else and wasn’t completely focused on her. Hopefully he was finishing up so they could leave before her friends realized what a liar she was.

“I tried to stop them.” She clung to Jesse’s hand and looked at him with a face full of all-too-genuine regret and guilt. “I tried…”

For a moment she thought it had worked. He softened as he looked at her. It was an instinct for him, the need to protect and comfort her. “I’m sure you did your best, lil gal.” But though he trusted her, he wasn’t a blindly trusting person. He shook his head. “Fareeha...that doesn’t make sense.”

She bit her lip and frowned. “What?”

He shook his head again, slowly, his mouth tightening. “Why did they only take her? If you were both ambushed like you said, why didn’t they take you both? You’re a liability, and a better fighter, it doesn’t make sense to leave you behind.”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged helplessly. “Maybe they have enough fighters, maybe I wasn’t worth the trouble...I don’t know, but...they have her.”

Jesse looked like he wanted to believe her. Like he wanted nothing more than to put his doubts aside focus on how happy he was to be reunited with Fareeha. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t who he was.

An alarm went off before he could say anything.

Everyone turned towards the monitors, and in that moment of shifted focus Fareeha whispered hotly, “Was that you?”

“Was what me?” Reaper responded grumpily, then after a second where he must have heard the alarm from her end, he grunted. “Probably.”

“What set it off?” Genji asked. “What area is it coming from?”

“It’s…” Winston looked confused. “Jack’s old office. No one’s been there since…”

Fareeha’s blood ran cold. There was next to no other reason Reaper would be there other than the one she didn’t want to believe.

“I’m on it.” Jesse was on the move before anyone could protest. “I rigged the room, could be nothing, I’ve got it if it’s not.”

It wasn’t nothing. She couldn’t let him run in there alone. She stepped back away from the group, finger guns raised, trying to hiding the pounding in her chest. “I’m just gonna...go with him.”

“Fareeha, you just came back, you don’t need to -- ”

She shook her head and held up her hand to stop Genji. “Just as backup, I miss him, and...it’s Jack’s stuff, you know...yeah. Just let me help him out.” With a smile that was more of a grimace she turned and ran after Jesse. Hopefully no one would follow.

Whatever she expected when she burst into the room, it wasn’t this. She saw Reaper with his hands curled into fists and his head bowed. Jesse with head in his hands, body shaking, sobs. She felt like she was intruding. But it was too late to leave, as if she could’ve made herself.

Jesse’s head whipped around, fresh tears in his eyes. His voice was wavering, almost accusatory, but shaky with emotion. “Did you know?”

Fareeha’s mouth hung open but she found she couldn’t speak. _Did you know?_ “I...I knew Reaper was here, Jesse, but -- ”

“No did you know he’s _Gabe_?”

She rocked back on her heels at the weight of his words, clutching the doorframe for support. It felt like the room was spinning. Or she was spinning. _He’s Gabe._

“What?” she whispered, as if that thought hadn’t been dancing around her head all day, but all those suspicions, they’d be just that, suspicions. Daydreams or nightmares either way something impossible but this was _real_ , this was _Jesse_ he wouldn’t lie, not about this, not about Gabe, _Gabe_ , alive, here, right here, Reaper. Her voice grew stronger, harder. “ _What_?”

Jesse looked between the two of them. Reaper, Gabe, Gabriel Reyes, not a corpse, just a terrorist, standing in this very room, he didn’t move. And she found she recognized that taut, posture, that guilt anger frustration wired into his body. She squeezed the door frame tighter.

“You let him in.”

Tired, sad. It would have been easier to hear if Jesse was angry with her. Not disappointed.

“ _Jesse_.” A plea. Desperate. She was as hurt and confused as he was. Please, please, she couldn’t take this from him.

“He’s alive, he’s... _him_ , and you’re _with_ him, what does that mean?”

“I -- I didn’t, I can explain, please -- ”

“We need to leave.” Reaper. Gabe. Neither seemed right now. How to think of him. She didn’t know. He was trying to hide how he felt, but it was bad, his low, menacing, now so obviously Gabe’s fake intimidation dramatic growl, it dripped with conflict and pain and regrets.

“No no, no, _no_.” What started off as the unsure begging of a little girl ended as the firm, bitter denial of someone who wasn’t going to let their supposedly dead father figure get away with avoiding the problems he had created. She held up a finger. It shook. “No.”

“We’re. Leaving.”

“No.” Jesse, blinking, confused, tear tracks on his cheeks, sounded more sure of himself than either of them. “No, you don’t get to leave. Not again.”

She blinked and Reaper -- he was still Reaper, he hadn’t earned Gabe, even if she could see Gabe so clearly now that she wondered how she’d ever been able to deny it -- was smoke. Smoke then a man, standing right behind Jesse, shotgun on the back of his head, the smoke the only reason he’d been able to get in that position, they all knew it.

“You gonna shoot me, pops?”

He could do it. His hesitation said that he wouldn’t, or maybe it said that he would, that he was preparing himself.

He hit Jesse on the head and caught him when he fell, cradling him in his arms, tender, holding him close and tight and not wanting to let go. Savoring the moment. The moment passed. Slowly, regretfully, he leaned Jesse against the wall. He stood.

They looked at each other. So many thoughts and emotions were clamoring in Fareeha’s mind that her face ended up looking betrayed and nothing else. His face a mystery. Both of them silent.

“What -- ”

“We need to leave,” he repeated, cutting over her. He brushed past so he was in front of her, hiding his face though she couldn’t see it anyways, or so he didn’t have to look at her face.

She stepped after him and grabbed his arm. He didn’t fight her grasp. “You need to -- ”

“ _You_ need to remember why you’re here. Who we have.”

Fareeha let go of his arm and he let it fall back to his side. She rolled her tongue in her mouth. “I remember.”

“Good. Let’s go.” A look down the hall then he headed the way they came in.

She didn’t follow. “We can’t get out that way.”

“Oh?”

“You set off an alarm. Base is on lockdown.”

He turned and strode back to her, putting his face a little too close to hers. “Then how do we get out?”

“You should know. Since you were in charge here.” Her voice was all venom.

He didn’t acknowledge that fully. “Protocols change.”

She wanted to punch him. “To get any door open we need an internal override. Winston needs to do it. And Winston, thanks to your grand idea, is currently with almost every other member of Overwatch right now. So. Good luck.”

“We can handle it.”

“You sure about that?”

He growled under his breath. His words were tense and short when he spoke. “You need to stop that. Focus on the mission.”

“How can I ‘focus on the mission’ when you’re…” Fareeha clenched her fists and shook her head. “The fact that you think I can just, just turn everything off, you expect me to – ”

“I do expect you to turn everything off,” he said, matter-of-fact. “I know you can. I know you do. This is just another mission.”

Her eyes widened in shocked anger. “Just another mission. Wow. Glad to see how much you care.”

“This isn’t about how much I care.” He sounded frustrated, though with himself or her she couldn’t tell. Maybe both. “We need to get out of here. Whatever else…do that later. But we need to leave.”

She was quiet. He was right, and she hated that. There was so much she wanted to say, but…he was right. If she took the time to do everything she wanted right this instant, there was no way they were getting out, and no way Angela would be safe. Angela. For Angela, she could shove this away for the moment. But just the moment; as soon as they were safely away…

“Fine. But later. _Later._ ” Her voice left no room for argument, not that he had the time or desire to argue with her.

Her response seemed enough to satisfy him. “Is there any way to leave covertly?”

Fareeha blinked and looked at him like he was stupid. “No? You set off an alarm, dumbass. The base is locked down. They’re expecting Jesse and me to come back in and tell them what happened. That’s clearly not going to happen given that Jesse is unconscious in Jack’s office.” Despite what she had just said, she couldn’t keep the venom out of her voice and maybe that was too much to ask, but she could be helpful even as she was scathing. That would be enough. His feelings being hurt didn’t matter as much as them being able to do what they needed to. She sighed. “Maybe…how’s the cloaking device? Is it still working?”

“Should be. Won’t for much longer.”

“What, why not? I’ve heard Sombra cloaks herself all the time. Her tech is what makes her so dangerous.”

“Sombra has more implants than is right. I don’t. This is new technology.”

“Hmph. Well…this is going to be a disaster,” she muttered, but continued with said disastrous thought anyways. “I can try to get Winston to open the door for me. I don’t know that he will, I really, there’s no reason for me to need to leave that’s not incredibly suspicious but if you can stay cloaked that long, maybe there’s a chance. Maybe.”

She gave a helpless shrug. “Unless you have a better idea?”

He shrugged too. He seemed more interested in getting out of here as quickly as possible and less in coming up with any well-thought out plan.

Fareeha rolled her eyes a tad overdramatically. “Useless.” She wanted to do much more than make bitter jabs at him (like cry, scream, demand answers), but for now that would have to be enough. “Just cloak yourself for as long as you can.”

Winston was at his computer, it looked like trying to figure out what the issue with the alarm was. The others were standing together and talking in raised voices, gesturing to where she had come from, an air of urgency, desire to act hanging about them.

“Fareeha, where’s Jesse?” Reinhardt asked, looking over everyone else’s heads.

“He’s still in Jack’s room.” The lies were coming easier now, quicker, as her urgency to leave grew. Were they any more convincing? She didn’t think so; she felt like she exuded the jumpy nervousness of a liar. “Trying to fix the alarm, there was nothing there, but, he got wind of where Angela might be.”

“That’s great news!” Lena almost leapt into the air. “Winston, did you hear that? We’ve got to send out a strike team, we can get her back!”

Winston turned with a frown on his face, but Fareeha beat him to it, shaking her head and speaking quickly. “No, no, it’s time-sensitive, that would take too long, I just need to go, right now, Winston if you could open the doors, I’ll go, I’ll save her.”

“Wait, slow down, you can spare one moment.” Reinhardt held up a hand. “Where is she?”

“I can’t send you back into the field,” Winston nodded.

“Tell me what Jesse found,” Genji suggested. He gestured to his body. “I’m mission-ready. If it’s something you think you can handle on your own, I’m sure I can take care of it myself.”

“No, no, it’s, I need to do it.” She was desperate but at least it worked in her favor. “I let her down once. I have to make things right.”

“That wasn’t your fault. Angela would want you to be safe.”

“Reinhardt I’m fine. Please. Let me do this.”

The alarm was still sounding in the background. Winston turned back to the monitor. “What did you say Jesse was doing?”

“I don’t know, trying to fix the alarm system, I mean he’s trying to get more intel too, that might be why it’s going so slowly.”

“I’m by the door. This cloak won’t last much longer.”

It didn’t. Her eyes had been flickering to the door, and almost as soon as he finished speaking, she saw a blur in the air then in an instant he was standing there in plain sight. Her eyes widened and her heartbeat quickened, but she tore her gaze away from the door and back to her friends. They hadn’t noticed him yet.

Reinhardt, ever empathetic, followed her gaze, and didn’t seem to know how to react to the terrorist standing in the room. Winston looked over but didn’t have that problem. With a roar, he launched himself at Reaper.

No. Gabe. In that moment, he shifted from a nebulous half-human half-monster, unnamable, to Gabe. This was Gabriel Reyes. To not name him as such was letting him off easy, putting the blame on Reaper, a persona, not the man behind the mask committing these atrocities. Man. She didn’t know if that word applied to him anymore. But it was Gabe, as much as it hurt her, this was Gabe.

Gabe and Winston had never been the best of friends (well, that was putting it lightly, Gabe thought the gorilla to be the worst kind of annoying), but they’d never outright fought like this when they’d both been with Overwatch. It hurt to watch.

“No, stop – ” Her voice was choked. She knew what she would say wouldn’t make a difference but couldn’t stop herself from speaking.

Reinhardt and Torbjorn had charge off, presumably to get their armor to help, leaving her with Lena and Genji, and Winston and Gabe locked together beyond them.

“Genji?” Lena looked at him expectantly as she bounced on her toes, ready to hop into the fight with him, to coordinate like they always did.

But Genji wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Fareeha with disbelief and betrayal and something a shade away from disgust. “You’re working with him.” It wasn’t a question. There was no doubt in his voice. He, so clever, had put together the slips and coincidences.

She couldn’t say anything. Her wide eyes confirmed his accusation.

“ _Why_.”

Lena was shocked into a rare silence but her face showed her betrayal.

Fareeha shook her head. She couldn’t. The way they looked at her…it almost broke her resolve. The thought of Angela, dead or worse, was the only thing that held it. “Genji, it’s not…”

“What is it, then?”

“Not, not what you, think, I…” Her gaze slid past him, to Winston and Gabe, Gabe stood with a bullet to the gorilla’s head, the fight over so quickly, not even that much of a fight really, Winston was never much of a fighter and they’d faced each other before and Gabe had had time to learn, he could kill Winston right this instant. He might. He would. “Stop, _stop_ , Gabe put that fucking gun down!”

A silence slid over the room. Gabe looked at her and she could feel his anger. The others…they looked like she had, just moments ago, when she’d heard the same.

Panic. Panic rising, clutching her heart. There was no way. No way the two of them would be able to fight their way out, not if Genji and Lena joined in, no chance in hell if Reinhardt and Torbjorn made it back too. But they had to get out, _had_ to, Angela’s life depended on it.

She didn’t think. She just reached out, took Lena in an inescapable grasp, held her hand over her glowing heart. One motion away from ripping it out. “Let us go.”

Fareeha couldn’t look at Lena. She couldn’t look at any of them. Her gaze darted between them all, unable to settle. She could see it in Genji and Winston’s faces, they didn’t think she’d do it, they hoped so fiercely she wouldn’t, but Fareeha could feel the desperation, almost crazed, in her eyes. She could feel what they were seeing: a woman possessed, a woman desperate, one who would do anything to get out of here. Including destroying the only thing keeping her friend alive.

“Fareeha…” Lena whispered. She sounded scared, a little girl.

She tightened her grasp. “Let. Us. Go.”

They were torn. They were confused. But she knew that they would never stand by and watch Lena die when they could do something about it; she knew that because she was doing the same thing, just for Angela.

Genji was pained, even as he tried to remain stoic and calm. “Fareeha, whatever is happening, we can help…” They were ignoring Gabe, or trying to. Too many problems to focus on them all at once.

“You can’t.” Her voice was tight. She moved her hand closer. “Let us go. No one needs to get hurt.”

“Don’t do it, Winston.”

“Lena.” Winston was tired, disappointed in her. How could she think he would listen? He looked at Fareeha. She wanted to curl up and die at the way he looked at her. “I’ll open the doors. Get out. Don’t hurt her.”

“We just want to leave.” Her voice shook just like her hands.

Gabe stepped aside so Winston could use his computer, but kept his gun trained on his head. That was unnecessary. Fareeha’s threat was strong enough.

The door opened. It had taken so long for something so simple. She kept her grasp on Lena as she walked over to Gabe. He didn’t say anything to her.

“I’m sorry Lena,” she whispered as she threw the woman to the ground, grabbed Reaper, and jetted into the air far away from the sad eyes of the people she loved.


	8. Chapter 8

This time she threw Gabe down. He turned to smoke before he hit the ground like she knew he would, but that didn’t make it any easier to see. She craved the crack of bones against rock. Some evidence that he was hurting a fraction as much as he had hurt her.

When she landed in front of him he held up his hands. “Let me – ”

She punched him. Heavy and reckless and angry. He could’ve stopped her easily, but her fist met no resistance and she felt the gratifying crack of her knuckles against his mask, which did not break, which only made her more irrationally angry. No, not as much as the fact that he’d tried to talk to her, as if she wasn’t furious and could be placated like a little girl.

“Fareeha.”

“ _No._ ” She held up a finger in his face, shushing him. “You don’t get to talk yet. It’s my turn. You utter…you asshole, piece of shit, you…there aren’t words for the kind of person you are. Not only did you tell the _worst_ lie, you, you’re a terrorist! A murderer! You hurt me, and Angela, and Winston and Lena and more people than I can name, we were your _family_ , I _thought_ we were and you lied to us, and now you’re _this_. You’re disgusting. You’re…”

Fareeha shook her head. Tears pricked at her eyes. Her throat had clenched shut and she was left with two fists and a broken heart. What to say. How to say it. “How could you,” she whispered finally.

She felt a hand rest gently on top of hers and she recoiled, looking at him indignantly. “No, you don’t get to touch me. You get to…” With a grunt she put her hands on his chest and shoved him away from her. Again he made no move to stop her. “Stand there. Answer my questions.”

“Alright.”

That one resigned word almost shattered her. She got the feeling she could tell him to jump off the cliff and he would. Even his posture was defeated. And as furious as she was, this was still Gabe, and something in her, something strong, yearned to just hug him and love him and rejoice that he was alive no matter the circumstances.

But the circumstances were too damning for her to be able to ignore them. So she stood there, torn, forcing her anger to be her dominant emotion. If she didn’t she would fall apart.

“You’re really Gabe.”

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

She didn’t need him to prove that he was Gabriel Reyes. But she needed to know that he was Gabe, her Gabe. She could hold out hope that he was somehow Gabriel but not the one she’d known, the way Amélie had killed her husband, maybe this was something like that, despite the signs. More than anything though she needed to hear him, Gabe. Something he would say. Familiar.

He swallowed. His voice was tender, and some of that permanent growl in his voice fell away, but she could tell, now, that it wasn’t an act entirely. Some of it, the part that had faded, was for show, but the velvety voice she remembered had been harshened. “I used to watch you for your mom. I would take you out for ice cream, and we would listen to heavy metal and drive over the speed limit. I always got chocolate and you got the swirl and you would scream the lyrics out the window both ways.”

“I stole your ice cream most of the time,” she murmured.

“You thought you were slick. I let you steal it.”

“No, I was definitely sneaky.”

“Sure, squirt.”

She felt the achingly wonderful and familiar smile on her face and blinked it away slowly, the hint of feeling like she once had melting away into crossed-arm guardedness. “So it’s you. It’s really you.”

His shoulders sagged. Maybe he’d thought he was getting through. And he had been, but she wasn’t going to be won over by stories of her childhood, not given everything else. “It’s me.”

“How did Jesse know?”

He seemed surprised at that question. “He…I wasn’t expecting him.”

“Me neither. Good thing he was there, though.” The challenge was coming back into her voice. Good. It made her feel stronger.

He didn’t fully respond to that. She wondered how he felt about seeing Jesse again, who was as much his son as Fareeha was his daughter, if not more. She decided, forcibly, that it didn’t matter how he felt. This was all his fault.

“I slipped up. He threw me off.”

“I didn’t throw you off?” That came more desperate than she would’ve liked, a child worried she wasn’t her father’s favorite.

“I was prepared for you.” He hesitated before adding, “You knew, though, before he said it.”

“Maybe. Yes. I knew. I knew the moment you snuck into my cell to watch me sleep, you _idiot_ , you gave yourself away right then, I just couldn’t admit the truth to myself.” She shook her head. “I still don’t believe it. You might say you’re Gabe, you might remember…but Gabe wouldn’t do the things you’ve done.”

Her eyes widened as she remembered what she’d said to Reaper, about her belief in Gabe, that he never could’ve destroyed Overwatch, how she’d professed her faith in the man who was standing next to her and betraying her at that very moment. “You let me say those things. You stood there and acted like a disinterested third party, I was talking about _you_ , god, I was an idiot, I _believed_ in you that much…”

He was quiet, giving her space to think and to accuse him, and how considerate he was pissed her off. Shouldn’t he be mad at her? She’d punched him and yelled at him and didn’t plan on stopping any time soon. “Why are you letting me do this? You’re a big bad Talon man now, right? So why are we still standing here?”

His voice was barely audible. “Because I still love you Fareeha.”

Her mouth fell open. “You still _love_ me?” Her voice was becoming hysterical, and she didn’t care. She _felt_ hysterical. “If you still love me then why did you kidnap me? Why did you take me away from the woman I love and leave me alone in a cell? Why did you make me lie to my friends? That’s not _love_ that’s _hate_.”

“No, it’s not.” He sounded creepingly desperate now. “It was going to happen no matter what, so I volunteered to oversee the operation, to keep you safe.”

“Oh, did you? Instead of, I don’t know, stopping me from being taken, you thought it would be better if you just did it yourself?”

“I couldn’t stop it, Fareeha, Akande had already decided – ”

“ _Akande_?” She was incredulous. “You take your orders from fucking Doomfist now?”

“I don’t take orders from anyone.”

“Really. Really? I thought you just _had_ to ‘oversee the operation’ you didn’t have a choice, sounds like someone’s ordering you, I thought you had enough of orders with Jack, that was why you blew the base up – ”

“Stop.”

He stepped forward and held her shaking hands in his. This time she didn’t flinch away. Her whole body was shaking, and his touch triggered something in her, opening the floodgates in her eyes. She leaned forward and pressed her face into his chest, sobbing.

“You’re alive.”

Fareeha thought he might move his hands and go for wrapping his arms around her body. She was glad when he didn’t. She didn’t know what that would do to her; this small contact was already bordering on overwhelming.

“You smell the same,” she whispered.

Then, without looking up at him (she couldn’t look at that mask), “Why did you lie to everyone?”

He thought. “Which part?”

She laughed, short and choked. “The big lie. Pretending to be dead.”

“It was easier,” he admitted. “For me, for everyone.”

“No it wasn’t.” Fareeha swallowed. “I already lost my mom. Why would losing you be easier?”

“Wasn’t it easier than knowing I turned into a man you hated?”

She frowned, thumping her forehead against his chest. “No one made you do that. That’s my next question. Why this?” At that she finally looked up at him and touched the cheek of his mask with her fingertips.

He put his hand over hers and moved it away from his face. “You don’t want to see.”

Fareeha’s frown deepened. “I meant ‘this’ generally…the whole Reaper thing, but…there’s a reason for the mask? It’s not an overdramatic aesthetic choice?”

Gabe shook his head so slightly she almost missed it. He repeated himself. “You don’t want to see.”

“I do.”

“I’m not what you remember.”

“No, you’re not,” she agreed. “None of you is what I remember.”

“I’m…”

“You’re what, a monster?” she gave another short laugh. “I already know that. I didn’t need to see under the mask. I just had to see what you’ve done to know what you’ve become.”

Gabe remained silent before saying quietly, “Please don’t.” He sounded like he was begging her, which made her vindictively satisfied, but hurt her too.

She had to know now. Gently, she put her hands on either side of the mask, and lifted, slowly. It fell from her fingertips but her face remained calm, still tinged with that confusing mix of sadness and anger.

Monster would be an apt description. His skin, if you could even call it that, seemed to be shimmering, constantly ripping apart then knitting back together, swirls of black amidst the red of burns slicing across his face and the white of bone peeking through. His mouth was a tight line, like a charred branch, his eyes tinged slightly red.

But she still saw Gabe in him. The cheekbones, the line of his nose, even his eyes, though the color was unfamiliar, said more than he ever would aloud. She touched his cheek.

“This doesn’t make you a monster,” she whispered. “The things you’ve _done_ make you a monster.”

He turned his head to the side and looked away from her. “You don’t understand.” A swallow. “But maybe you’re right.”

She crossed her arms. “Try to make me understand, then. Try to make me understand why you’re alive and a terrorist.”

His eyes came back to hers, then away, then after a long pause and a heavy, shuddering sigh, back. “Angela did this to me. _Mercy._ ”

He said it with so much disgust that anger boiled up in her stomach. That was the woman she loved. No one could say her name like that. “Angela didn’t turn you into Reaper, leave her out of…oh. Oh.”

“I’m surprised she told you.”

“I think…are we thinking the same thing here? She said…at the Swiss base, she…”

“She tried to bring me back but she turned me into _this_.”

Fareeha bit her lip. It fit with what Angela had tearfully told her, but Angela had been much less certain than Gabe was now. Her story was full of maybes and doubt and guilt. Gabe seemed nothing short of positive that his current state was completely Angela’s fault. “You can’t blame her for that.”

“I can’t blame her for making every moment full of pain?” he said, gesturing angrily at his body. “I’m falling apart. And that’s not a euphemism.”

“She was trying to help.”

“Intentions can’t change what happened.”

“She was trying to save you, you ungrateful piece of shit,” she growled. “She did the only thing she could think of to try to help you. Don’t be an ungrateful asshole. And – this is beside the point. So what if she did this? It doesn’t give you a free pass to pretending to be dead or joining Talon.”

“I thought I was dead. I didn’t know what had happened. How could I tell you I wasn’t dead when I didn’t even know that myself?”

“Okay,” she said in a clipped voice. “That excuse buys you a few days. A few weeks, even. It’s been _much_ longer than that. And doesn’t explain Talon.”

Fareeha saw his hands flexing in those ridiculous gloves. She was struck by the memory of him at a Halloween party wearing a pumpkin on his head with an equally-ridiculous costume he’d sewn himself. He’d made her one too, a little Overwatch uniform just like her mom’s, a tiny Lieutenant Amari clinging to his back like a monkey.

Her voice was a whisper. “Explain why you’re with the organization that kills our family. That killed my mother.”

He rolled his tongue in his mouth and looked at the sky. “It’s not like that.”

“Talon killed Gerard. My mother. _You’ve_ killed Overwatch agents. How is it not like that?”

“You don’t know what we stand for.”

There was a shocked, incredulous, almost-smile on her face. “I’m _sorry_? I don’t know what you _stand_ for?” He was making her mad again. “I think I do; violence and murder and pointless destruction. Must feel good to have such lofty principles.”

“You could say the same about Overwatch.” It seemed to have slipped out before he thought better of it.

And he _should_ have thought better of it. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Gabe exhaled through his teeth, a hiss of air as he struggled for his words. “Overwatch wanted to make the world a better place. But tell me. Did it?”

“Of course.” Her answer came without hesitation.

“Is the world any better today than it was when Overwatch was around?”

“Yes.” The corner of her mouth pulled to the side. “It’s still terrible, okay, you’re right about that, but it’s better.”

“Overwatch wasn’t effective.”

Her eyes flashed at the certainty in his voice. “Just because it couldn’t make the world a peaceful utopia doesn’t mean it wasn’t effective. It made the world better.”

“But it didn’t do enough. Just. Wait.” He held up his hand when she began to protest. “Overwatch’s methods didn’t work. So we need to try something different. We need to try Talon’s.”

Fareeha’s face was tight and guarded. “Talon’s methods. Right. Does almost dying making you insane? I’m beginning to think so.”

“Struggle makes us, all of us, better. Talon creates that struggle.”

“ _Great_ , thanks so much for taking the bullet and being shitty people so the rest of us can be better. Thanks. Really. Bottom of my heart.”

“Fareeha…”

“Sorry, no, I’m not listening to a terrorist try to justify himself anymore.”

“You asked me to explain.”

Her face froze. Right. It was just like Gabe to call her out like that. “Well. I’m not impressed.” She rolled her tongue in her mouth. “I was hoping you’d have a real reason. Or, that this was all an act, that you were still the Gabe I knew.”

He sighed heavily and shook his hazy head. “I am.”

“No, you’re not.” Fareeha looked away from him. “You knew I’d find out about you eventually. You had to know. It was inevitable. So, what? What was the point? If you were hoping I’d be so glad to see you alive I’d ditch Overwatch and join your band of terrorists you were sorely mistaken.”

“I don’t want you to be a part of Talon. I don’t want you to be a part of Overwatch, either. I don’t want you to have to fight at all.”

She snorted. “That’s how I know it can’t be you. The Gabe I knew would never tell me to shut up and sit down.”

“People change, Fareeha.”

“Not that much. You would’ve never told me to give up and just stop fighting. You were _always_ fighting.”

“And look where it got me.” He gestured angrily at himself. “Do you think I want this for you?”

“I promise I won’t turn into a black-robed terrorist if that makes you feel any better.”

“You keep using that word.”

“Terrorist? Yeah. It’s what you are. Sorry if that offends you.”

He didn’t seem offended, that was the thing. Frustrated, maybe, but less at actually being called a terrorist and more at her, in the way he was when she wasn’t understanding something that he felt she should. “People call you a terrorist too.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Really. Who?”

“Much of the international community.” When her only response was to purse her lips and look to the side, he continued, “You’re in open defiance of the Petras Act. You’re a criminal.”

“That’s…it’s different. We didn’t have a choice. Do you think Winston wanted to issue the recall and get us all into this trouble? We have no choice but to help people.”

“Talon has no choice but to help people. We just do it differently.”

“I’m really going to need you to stop comparing Talon and Overwatch. They’re not comparable.”

“And you’re not biased?”

“Look, Gabe, if anyone has reason to hate Overwatch it’s me.” The words came out heavy. It wasn’t something she’d admitted before. To herself, sure, but never out loud; it felt like sacrilege. “My often-shitty childhood, the deaths of just about everyone I’ve cared about, that’s all Overwatch. But. I don’t hate it. Because I believe in what we do, what you _used_ to do. And you’re right, some people probably think we do more harm than good, and maybe sometimes they’re right, but overall? I believe in Overwatch. I have to.”

He let her whisper hang in the air and she knew what he was silently asking. It was something she’d asked herself. Why? Why did she _have_ to believe in Overwatch? “Because if I don’t…everything I’ve lived for, really it’s…more everything my _mother_ lived for…it doesn’t mean anything. And…” she shook her head slightly. “Overwatch is the only family I’ve ever really had. I trust these people so much. Can you say that about Talon?”

He shrugged and gave a half smile, disagreeing with her but not wanting to say it outright.

Oh. Right. “Don’t tell me Overwatch wasn’t your family. That you didn’t trust them with your life. I know that’s a lie.”

“It was. I did. And again. Look where it got me.”

“So, what? Everyone you loved, all the faith you had in them…”

“Misplaced faith.” He was dismissive; of course he had been wrong to have faith in them, she must be so young and silly not to see it.

She didn’t see it. “Just because you think Jack betrayed you doesn’t mean the rest of us did or ever would.”

His face turned hard, closed-off. To this point he had been willing to answer her questions and explain, even tolerated her jabs because at least it meant he was talking to her, but Jack, it seemed, crossed some line for him. “‘Because I think he betrayed me.’ Hmph. If you knew what he’d done…”

“Frankly, I don’t care right now. He’s a piece of shit who faked his own death too. I told you how I felt about that. And whatever you would tell me about him, it’s not like I could believe it. You’re too angry to be objective about him.”

Gabe blinked. “I thought you’d be on his side now.”

“What? No? I obviously don’t think Gabriel Reyes is a wonderful man I believe in with my whole heart and I don’t think he could ever tear down Overwatch, but…it’s not about taking sides. So.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. You’re the one taking sides now. Killing Overwatch agents?” Her voice was thick with emotion. This was one of the things that had been weighing on her mind behind the bitter insults. “Explain _that_. Even if you hate Overwatch, you don’t have to go on a mass murder campaign.”

He was silent, and she stepped forward right in front of him, fists balled. “These are people you love. Who love you.”

“No one I’ve killed.”

“ _What_?”

“No one I’ve killed knew me well enough to love me.”

Her mouth fell open. “Really? _Really_? They’re still people, what…so you draw the line at people you know? You’re okay with murder, you just don’t kill your friends? Or your former friends? You think that makes you better?”

Again, silence met her words, but had spent so long reading his face that even this new grotesque face said everything she needed to know. He didn’t kill his friends. He couldn’t bear to. Even if he was this Reaper, he still loved his friends. His family.

“Jesse still loves you too,” she muttered.

She didn’t miss the hope that sprung into his eyes, or the way he carefully kept it out of his voice. “Really.”

“Of course.”

“He seemed upset.”

“Yeah, because he _was_.”

“You didn’t cry.”

“I didn’t have time to cry, and we both know Jesse’s a baby. Why did you think he would be crying if he didn’t still care about you?”

“He was angry.” Gabe was unsure.

“Yeah. Me too. But we both still love you.” Fareeha bit her lip, recalling memories she usually kept firmly in the back of her mind. “He took it the hardest, you know. And Genji. The three of us…you really fucked us up, Gabe.”

She felt cruel for causing the pain on his face, but hadn’t he caused so much more pain than that? It was only fair that he face the consequences of his actions. “I’d already lost my mom. And Jesse and Genji, you were all they had too. They couldn’t even…without you they were so untethered. They ran. Maybe that’s not the best word. But they took off, they couldn’t be around when…all the stuff with the trials and the hearings, they couldn’t.”

“And you?” She could barely hear his voice.

“I stuck around. Of course I did.” If she chewed on her lip any harder she was going to taste her own blood. “Like I said. Overwatch is my family, but…it was hard. Harder when they left, because…I’m not saying we were the only ones who believed in you, because we weren’t, no one wanted to think you _or_ Jack could…but…we loved you the hardest. You were like our dad, you know, so we…it was different. Being around everyone else while everything was happening was…”

He waited for her to finish, but she couldn’t. She knew he would know what she meant even if she couldn’t find the words. How could she pin everything she’d felt down into a word or two? Finally she whispered, “That was one of the worst times of my life. Right up there with when my mom died.”

Gabe looked crushed. Good. He _should_ feel guilty.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could manage, helpless.

Fareha looked at the sky. She was suddenly aware of how close she was to Gabe, the warmth emanating from his body. She was angry and had a feeling that wouldn’t fade any time soon, maybe not ever, but remembering how it had felt to bury his empty casket and listen to everyone in the world say the man she’d loved was evil and always had been…she let herself fall forward into his chest, wrapped her arms around him.

He didn’t react initially. Cautious. He slowly put his arms around her and squeezed and pressed his face on top of her head. She felt his hot tears. Her own ran down his chest.

They didn’t move.


	9. Chapter 9

Angela didn’t know how long it would take for her to see Amélie without feeling the tightness in her chest. This was only the second time, true, but she felt just as shocked, pained, and hopeful as the first. Amélie stood in the door wearing that skin-tight pink catsuit of hers, holding her shoulder with her hand. There was blood on her fingertips.

Angela almost rushed over to her, but was just able to contain herself to a professional hurriedness. She gently lifted Amélie’s hand so she could look at the wound with a frown, then, still holding her bloody hand, Angela turned and went back to the exam table. “Come with me, sit down.”

Amélie came without fuss, though she did have the slightest look of confusion on her face when she sat. “It’s just a bullet wound…”

“Well I’ve seen how Talon takes care of its operatives,” Angela responded with pursed lips. “I want to make sure this is done right. They don’t care about you like I do.”

“I really am fine,” Amélie said slowly, like she wasn’t used to this much of a fuss being made over her.

Angela squinted. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”

She shrugged. “Two.”

“That’s…not what I would expect,” she frowned. “You said Talon altered your emotions. Did they alter your pain tolerance too?”

“Yes. I don’t feel much pain.” Amélie looked down and slipped her hand out of Angela’s grasp.

Angela blushed. She hadn’t even realized she was still holding onto Amélie’s hand. She heard Sombra giggle, and her head whipped around to look at the other woman. “Get out of here. I need to focus.”

“Need to be alone with  _Amie_?”

“Out.”

Sombra held up her hands. “Alright, Doc, alright.”

Angela didn’t pay attention to Sombra leaving; she was focused on quickly but carefully removing the bullet from Amélie’s shoulder. When she finished, though more slowly than usual given her one-handedness, Angela held the bullet up to the light and looked at it with a frown. It seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Almost like the bullets Ana used, but not exactly…she shook her head. She was seeing too many old friends in the shadows now. It was definitely a sniper’s bullet, though.

“You were hit by another sniper.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the best.”

“I am.” Amélie shrugged. “Sometimes you are unlucky.”

“No, you were lucky.” She put the bullet in a vial to look at later. “That bullet didn’t hit anything vital. You’ll be sore, but you’ll be fine.”

Amélie gestured towards the staff propped up against the exam table. “Can’t you use that?”

Angela shook her head, frowning again. “No, I was able to fix you up just fine. There’s no need to use it.”

“You just don’t want to use it.”

“No, not if I can avoid it.”

“What’s the point if you don’t use it?” Amélie asked. She seemed genuinely confused, looking between Angela, whose frown just deepened. “I’ve seen ‘Mercy’ in action. All you do is fly around using your staff.”

“That’s in battles and emergency situations.” Angela was still frowning, troubled not by Amélie’s question itself, but by the fact that this was a question she’d been asked many times by her superiors and friends at Overwatch when she’d first developed her staff. They didn’t ask her anymore, but if this was Amélie’s mindset, surely that reflected Talon’s too, and how they saw and would use this technology. “I use it then because people need healing more quickly than I could otherwise provide it. It’s urgent. Something like this, I can fix just fine without it.”

“But it saves time to use your staff, no? And I wouldn’t be sore, or have to worry about stitches, or infection?”

Angela shook her head. “It does, and you wouldn’t. But the nanites have side-effects, some of which I still don’t fully understand, none of which are good. I do know that prolonged exposure worsens the effects, so the less I can use it, the better.”

“You use it on your friends an awful lot.” Amélie’s eyebrows were raised, and the question came with the slightest bit of accusation, but like her questions before it was mostly detached curiosity. But still. That was a little emotion in someone who supposedly had none.

“Because if I didn’t most of them would be dead many times over,” she said with a small laugh. “Used quickly in emergencies to save lives, it’s worth it. You’re not going to die from that bullet though.”

Amélie glanced down at her wound and touched it gently, then looked back up at Angela through her lashes. Her voice was as quiet as that motion. “Thanks to you.”

Her heartbeat quickened. That looked like a soft flirtation. Or maybe hesitant gratitude. It looked like something Amélie, not Widowmaker, would do and say. But it seemed like the movement of a doe in the bushes, cautious and unsure, and Angela didn’t want to make the sudden movement, the crack of a branch, that would make Amélie bound away back into the unreachable thick of the forest. “It was simple enough,” she said agreeably, adding, because she couldn’t help herself, “I’d do much more for you.”

It almost scared her away. But she was still cautiously curious and so stuck around, looking at Angela through narrowed eyes. “You don’t make any sense.” It was an accusation, but it was confused and frustrated, more at herself than Angela, even.

“What do you mean?” She had a feeling she knew what Amélie meant, but she also thought that maybe Amélie herself didn’t know what she meant, and that making her say it out loud might help.

“I mean…” Amélie rolled her tongue in her mouth and looked up at the ceiling like she was searching for the words, though she did so angrily. “I can tell you still want to ‘save’ me. Even after I told you it was impossible and unneeded. And that makes no sense.”

“You don’t give up on people you care about,” Angela said simply.

“And you care about me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” The question came suddenly and aggressively, as if Angela was somehow affronting her by caring about her.

Angela bit her lip. Why did she care. There wasn’t enough time in the world to answer that question fully. “You said you remembered everything.”

“I do.” Amélie paused for a moment, as if flipping impassively through her memories, searching for the one that would provide an answer. “I remember how we felt. But…I ignored you. After Talon took me the first time, I remember, I didn’t care about you anymore. I was focused on Gérard. And I killed him.” She shook her head slightly. “That should mean you shouldn’t care about me anymore either.”

Angela noticed how carefully she avoided saying the full truth, that they loved each other. “You disappeared for two weeks and couldn’t remember what happened, I wasn’t going to be mad at you for focusing on your husband more than me, or for acting a little differently…and Gérard…you’ve killed a lot of people, Amélie. A lot. And I know I should hate you for it, or at least, not feel the way I do, but every time I look at you and I see that you’re alive, I…” She swallowed. “You’re still my Amie.”

Amélie shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to,” she shot back.

“But why not?” She added, a little more gently, “Just tell me why. I’ll stop if it’s what you really want.”

“It makes me remember things I’d rather not.”

Angela thought she understood. “Sombra said you don’t like to talk about the past.”

“I don’t.” She rolled her eyes, but her jaw was still tight, her body drawn taut like she might spring away to make her escape at any moment. “You’re going to ask why. Because it’s over. It’s done. I prefer to focus on the future. You, do you think endlessly about the past?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “I think about when things were better.”

“But what does that do for you?” she said frustratedly. “Things won’t be like they were. There’s no point in remembering. It hurts.” The last two words were said with pain.

Angela nodded her head, throat suddenly tight. “I know. It hurts me too.” She sighed roughly. “But it makes me happy, to remember how happy I was, the people I lost. You have to remember.”

Amélie was silent for a moment, and Angela was afraid that she’d withdrawn back behind the shell she’d so painstakingly carved for herself. Because it was becoming clearer that that was what the whole Widowmaker persona was. A shell, to protect a woman who almost couldn’t feel, but  _almost_ , just enough that what she could feel confused and saddened her making it easier to pretend she just couldn’t feel anything at all.

“You still care about me.” The words came out slow, cautious, and like she was scared of what Angela’s response would be.

“Yes. Always.”

“Even though I’m Talon. Even though I’ve killed.”

“Yes.” And she could’ve said that she wasn’t sure how much of being Talon and killing for them was actually Amélie’s choice and how much of it was the brainwashing, that she didn’t think most of Amélie’s decisions she’d been Widowmaker were actually her own decisions, but she didn’t. Amélie didn’t need to hear that. She just needed to know that Angela cared about her now and always would.

Amélie didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, eyes wider now, looking past Angela, like she didn’t quite know how to deal with being cared about. That made Angela ache, seeing how lonely she must be. But was she that lonely, or was it just the newness, and the old familiarity, of having Angela love her?

“Sombra said she was your friend.” It was a statement, but a question lay underneath: what kind of friend?

Amélie smiled slightly, and for the first time, Angela saw something like life sparkling in her eyes. “Friend? That was the word she used?”

“Yes? Well, I guess she said it a little…mischievously. But she says everything mischievously.” Angela raised her eyebrows. “Are you two…?”

“Are we what? Fucking?” Amélie almost seemed to be enjoying herself. “Yes, Angela, we’re having sex.”

Angela didn’t quite know what to say about that. On the one hand, plenty of people had sex without emotion; that wouldn’t be so hard for her to believe, that even an assassin who professed herself to be cold and heartless might hook up with an objectively beautiful coworker. But that spark in Amélie’s eyes, the fondness in her voice…that suggested something else entirely. Maybe Angela wasn’t the first one to put a few cracks in Widowmaker’s armor.

“Is it really just sex?”

“What else would it be?” Amélie looked like she knew Angela could tell she was lying. She shrugged but didn’t elaborate.

“Well, whatever it is, I’m glad for you.” Amélie looked at her questioningly. “You deserve some happiness.”

“Happiness?”

“Yes, happiness. I don’t believe you feel _nothing_ , Am-Amélie. I wouldn’t have thrown you off if that was true.”

“You didn’t throw me off.”

“I confused you.”

“That’s different. Confusion isn’t an emotion.”

“No, but…you wanted to understand. I don’t think you would have if you really didn’t care.”

Amélie shifted uncomfortably. “You’re just different because I knew you, before. That’s all it is.”

Angela raised her eyebrows.

“It _is_.” Amélie shook her head. “You’re just…I remember you loving me. I remember loving you…”

Suddenly, she seemed to close herself off, her mouth tightening, the vulnerability fleeing from her face to be replaced by hard-eyed anger. She shook her head as if mad at herself and stood abruptly. “This is foolish. I just wanted information, that was all, and now you’ve got me  _remembering_  things, this is why I don’t feel, why I’m stronger because of Talon, you’re  _weak_  and I won’t let you make me weak too.”

“Wait, Amélie – ”

But before Angela could reach out to her, reassure her, Amélie shook her head and left the room in a storm of self-directed anger.

Angela all but collapsed onto the exam table, face in her hand. She’d been so close. She’d had Amélie back, talking to her, smiling, but not long enough. Not long enough to actually get through to her. Angela had failed her, again.


	10. Chapter 10

Fareeha and Gabe sat on a rock next to each other. There was a calm between them. Fareeha still felt the swirl of conflicting emotions, but there was only so much crying and screaming one could do in such a short period of time. She’d exhausted her tears and her anger had tucked itself away, leaving her with not quite emptiness, but something more still and accepting.

Gabe was a terrorist. That was terrible.

Gabe was alive. That was wonderful. And terrible.

Those facts had settled in her mind. She didn’t know what had settled in his mind; maybe that she hated him now, or that she loved him still. Both were true. Still very tangled, but at least she knew what those threads held.

“You really think Talon is making the world better.” She didn’t have the energy, or the desire, to be venomous. Her words were frank.

“Maybe. I don’t know how much it’s possible to make the world better.”

Fareeha bumped him with her shoulder. “That’s so defeatist. You were always more realistic, but not so grim about everything.”

“It’s called depression.”

She laughed despite herself. She’d missed his deadpan humor. “So? We’re all depressed, Gabe. Doesn’t make us make us give up completely.”

“I haven’t given up completely,” he corrected her.

“No, I can see that,” she sighed. “You still fight for Talon.”

“Yeah.”

“So…what’s that like?”

He frowned. “How do we fight?”

“No, no, I mean, working with Talon. The people. What’s that like.”

“I didn’t think you cared,” Gabe said uncertainly.

She pursed her lips and shrugged. “I guess I’m curious. I’m just trying to figure this out, figure you out, you know.”

“It’s…not very different from Overwatch,” he admitted. “The ways it’s different are pretty big, but otherwise…”

“One of the ways it’s different is that you’re now working with a bunch of terrorists, yeah?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Genji and Jesse were about as clean-cut as Sombra and Lacroix.”

“Genji and Jesse were…okay you’re right I can’t defend them that’s too fake. But you’re comparing them?” Fareeha squinted at him, then her eyes and mouth widened in understanding. “You just pick up kids wherever you are, don’t you?”

He opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. “Maybe. It’s not my fault everyone I work with is unprofessional and needs constantly fatherly supervision.”

“You enjoy it,” she teased. “Seeing you with Sombra was like looking in a mirror.”

“You were never that bad.”

“Really?”

“No, but you had the excuse of being a twelve-year-old. Sombra’s an adult.” He tilted his head to the side. “She reminds me of Jesse.”

“A depressed meme?”

“Essentially. And…maybe that’s why Talon is so easy, and familiar, Lacroix reminds me a lot of Genji; it’s just daughters instead of sons.”

“So you’ve got the depressed meme, and the plain old depressed.” Fareeha’s face froze. Lacroix. Duh. She felt like an idiot; it had taken him saying it a second time for it to hit her in full. “Amélie Lacroix. Widowmaker.”

Caution reentered his voice and manner. He knew how touchy a subject this was in so many ways. “All of that happened before I joined Talon. You know that. There’s nothing I could do for her.”

She looked at him incredulously. “That’s nice, but that’s not really what I care most about at this very moment, she killed my _mom,_ Gabe, and you’re calling her your daughter?” She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head, but it was hard, and independent of Gabe being here. She could mention what had happened to her mom without melting now, but thinking specifically about it, about her killer, that still never failed to make her insides churn.

Fareeha exhaled heavily. Her voice was shaky. “She killed my mother, your _friend_. Do you just not care about that?”

She was expecting him to be defensive, maybe apologetic. He just looked confused.

“Fareeha… Lacroix didn’t kill your mother.”

“It was Talon’s new sniper that shot my mother. That turned out to be Widowmaker. So yes. She did.”

He still looked deeply confused and trouble. “Who told you that?”

“Jack. He was on the mission.”

Something clicked in Gabe’s mind, but it wasn’t anything pleasant. “I had no idea he…Fareeha, he lied to you. Ana wasn’t dead. She was alive when they left.”

It was like the breath had been sucked out of her lungs. “What?” she whispered.

“They left her behind.” He tried to say it as gently as possible, but there was no gentle way to tell someone their mother had been abandoned by her family.

A chill shook her body. She wanted to deny it, but…why would he lie? She could find out the truth, and maybe it was him trying to turn her against Overwatch, but no, he risked turning her against himself too, blaming him for not telling him either.

Overwatch had abandoned her mother. Her mother, who everyone called Mama Bear, who protected her team like they were her own children. The man or the mission – she always chose the man, would never leave anyone behind. And they’d left her behind.

Worse. Jack had left her behind. Her best friend. Left her there, then lied about it.

That was the worst part, the lying. Maybe…even sitting here in shocked silence, she could see that maybe, sometimes, there were good reasons for leaving team members alone behind enemy lines. Maybe. But lying to a daughter about her mother’s death? A daughter old enough to understand the difficult decisions of the field, who had grown up with her mother making those very decisions? Never. Inexcusable.

“Jack told me she died behind enemy lines. That was why we never got her body.” Her voice had an edge of hard anger, but she was otherwise surprisingly calm, flat. There were only so many life-shattering revelations a person could hear in a day before shutting down. No, she hadn’t shut down, exactly, it was just easier, now, to push everything down, repress it, letting only the small vein of anger she could handle slip through.

“I’m sorry,” Gabe murmured. “I had no idea. I would’ve told you.”

“I believe that,” she said with a wry, pained half-smile.

“Morrison’s done a lot of fucked up things. That’s one of the worst.”

“Yeah…the thing is…if he had just told me the truth, maybe…it wouldn’t be so bad. I just, I shouldn’t have to find out how my mother really died years and years later from someone who wasn’t even there.” She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know if he was trying to protect me or himself.”

“Probably both. But you didn’t need protecting.”

“Yeah. You would’ve told me the truth. I know that. Jack just…I don’t want to hate him. I really don’t. He’s just making it harder and harder not to, the more I learn, the more I just want to…don’t look so pleased, Gabe, I can see that smug little face you’re trying to hide.”

“I’m not.” He tucked that small smile away, but that somehow just made the satisfaction in his eyes shine brighter.

“Yes, you are, and you can stop that. Not all of us want to realize our heroes are terrible.”

“Morrison was never my hero.”

“Maybe not, but you loved him.” Jack and Gabe’s relationship, though it by no means consisted of them going on cute dates and holding hands in the office, had never been a secret.

“Lov _ed_ him. Just like you did before you realized the truth.”

“I still love him.”

He raised his eyebrow. “You said you wanted to kill him. And that was before this.”

Right. Reaper. “I want to kill you and I still probably love you. They’re not mutually exclusive. You should know, given that you and Jack were always swinging back and forth between murder and sex.”

“Do you want to kill everyone you love? Do you love everyone you want to kill?”

“Gabe, dumbass, I don’t actually want to kill anyone? I want to really beat you and your ex up but I’m not actually trying to kill people, unlike you.”

“Not even Widowmaker?” The question came out without much thought on his part; he was just curious.

Fareeha, for her part, was surprised. “Mmm. Yeah.” Her mouth tightened. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. But…no, I wouldn’t…I mean if I saw her, I don’t know how I’d react. I’d rather just not see her. But I wouldn’t…”

“Even with what she did?”

“Why are you pushing this so much? I thought you said she was your daughter, now it seems like you want her dead.”

“I’m just interested in why you’re giving her a pass.”

“And not you, that’s what you’re asking.”

“…no.”

“…yes? It definitely is? She _doesn’t_ get a pass, for the record, the woman who killed my mother…no, she’s not getting off free. There’s just more going on with her than there is with you.” She shook her head and let out a sigh. “Because… I know it’s technically not her fault. Angela gets touchy if I blame her. But she still pulled the trigger, so…”

He hesitated before saying slowly, “You know Angela and Lacroix…”

“I know. She told me.”

“Did she.”

“Yes, don’t look so unsure. She was honest with me. She’s always honest with me.”

“They’ve met here, since she’s been at Talon.”

“Okay?” Fareeha couldn’t deny that that made her slightly uncomfortable. She knew their history, that Amélie had left her husband for Angela and if Amélie hadn’t been taken by Talon that very night the two of them would probably be happily married themselves now, and Fareeha wouldn’t be anything more than a friend to Angela. She knew that some part of Angela still loved Amélie, and she knew that between Angela’s general need to save everyone and her particular history with Amélie, she’d do just about anything to help the now-Widowmaker and bring back Amélie. The thought of the two of them alone together, the way Angela softened wistfully whenever Amélie was mentioned, it almost made her worried.

But she wasn’t. She looked Gabe calmly in the eyes. “I trust her. We love each other, which means we trust each other.”

“Are you sure? Gérard trusted her too.”

“Angela and Gérard weren’t exactly seeing each other.”

“She still betrayed his trust.”

“And she felt like shit about that, okay? Believe me, Gabe, I know all about her regrets and hurting him is one of her biggest. So was not being able to save you, so, you can stop hating her.”

“I don’t hate her. I just don’t see why you think she’s perfect.”

“I _know_ she’s not perfect,” she laughed. “That’s why I love her so much. You were her friend. Don’t act like you weren’t.”

“I was her friend. You’re right. But that doesn’t change what she did, yes, I _know_ she didn’t mean to, but she still did it. She used technology she didn’t fully understand in a way she’d never tried before and I have to suffer the consequences of that. Maybe you think it’s unfair of me to blame her, but who else’s responsibility is it? It’s her fault and that’s just the truth of it.” He was frustrated, with her, himself, Angela, maybe all three.

The thing was, she could understand. “Look,” she sighed. “I get it. It’s not Angela’s fault the same way it’s not Widowmaker’s fault; it’s in the details, the intentions, but that doesn’t change what actually happened. The difference is that I don’t think Widowmaker gives a shit about shooting my mother, but Angela would do literally anything in her power to try to make up for doing this to you.”

“You really love her.” He said it quietly. He’d accepted it, but didn’t quite understand all the way.

“Yes. Yes, Gabe.” Fareeha blinked, her eyes flickering to the sky, a wave of longing suddenly crashing down on her. She’d gone longer than a week without seeing Angela, but this was different, and worse, than any other time. She tried to push it away and laughed, brokenly, “I thought you knew that? Since you snatched us both up?”

“That was Sombra’s intel. I didn’t…seeing you talk about her, the way you miss her…”

“Almost makes you feel bad for capturing us then keeping us apart.” She laughed again and couldn’t keep the pain hidden.

“Yeah,” he admitted to her surprise. “Akande was the one who wanted to keep you separated.”

“Doomfist?” It was weird to hear the villain of her childhood casually referred to by his first name by the hero of her childhood. Just another reminder of what Gabe had become.

He nodded. “I didn’t see the need for it. But he thought it would be worth it, to weaken you both.”

“Sounds like a great guy.”

“You’re not wrong,” Gabe said with a shrug that seemed too forcedly casual. He caught the question in her narrow-eyed gaze and added, as if to cover something else up (something she would definitely remember and nettle him about later), “He’s the root of Talon’s ideals. He’s very principled.”

“The ‘murder makes us better’ principles? I’ll have to talk to him about that. You think he’ll still feel the same if I murder him?”

Gabe rolled his eyes but there was a smile on his lips. “If I didn’t care about you so much I’d tell you to try. It would be interesting to watch for a few minutes.”

She snorted. “Don’t count me out, old man. I know Doomfist is supposedly a tactical genius, but he fucked up. All he did in keeping us apart was make me ready to fight that much harder to see her again.”

“You can see her.” The words jumped out of his mouth. “I can make that happen.”

Fareeha hadn’t expected that. “Really? When?”

“Soon. Probably tomorrow.”

“Is there some kind of catch? Do I have to do something? Does she?” Though her initial reaction was all joy, a few seconds more was all she needed to be wary.

“No. She’s cooperated, and so have you. You…did a good job back there.”

“Ha.” She was torn between wanting to leap in the air in celebration and wanting to sink down to the very center of the earth. Seeing Angela, _tomorrow_ …her heart raced at the thought. She just hadn’t wanted to think about the other thing, what she’d just done and the people she’d hurt. “A good job. Right. Yeah. Threatening to rip your friend out of existence is always a good move. Mhm.”

“You did what was needed.” There it was, a hint of guilt. Lena may have been more Jack’s protégé than his, but damn if Gabe didn’t mildly adopt every single gay young recruit.

“That doesn’t make it any better, does it. And it was only needed because you set off an alarm.” She shook her head. “Dumbass.”

“I didn’t know it was there.”

“Well you avoided it well enough for however long you were there beforehand.”

“I…”

“Spill it.”

“Don’t take that tone with me.”

“Gabriel fucking Reyes I’m going to take whatever tone I want with you and you’re not going to say anything because you know you deserve it. Spill. It.”

He looked like there were many things he wanted to say to her. But she was right, and he knew it. It was hard to take the high ground when you’d faked your own death, become a murderer, kidnapped your daughter and her girlfriend, and forced that daughter to almost kill your other daughter in front of your entire family.

He pursed his lips. “I was in the archives downloading records. That was the mission. Going into Morrison’s office was…personal and unplanned.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re saying all that shit that just happened only happened because you wanted to creep through your ex’s things?”

“Absolutely not, there was important information he had stored there, it wasn’t essential but since I was already in the base – ”

“Bullshit. Bull. Shit. If there was anything valuable Jack would’ve cleaned it up by now we both know it, stop trying to lie, you were being a dumb gay and got us caught.”

“Well – ”

“No, Gabe, seriously, fuck you. Control your gay ass. You’re a grown man.”

“…yeah,” he admitted slowly. He tilted his head, thinking about arguing, then thought better of it and gave a sharp nod. “Yeah. That wasn’t the smartest move. I can accept that.”

“Can you accept my fist in your face?”

He laughed. “Not again, _solecito_. You got your free pass already.”

“I think I deserve more than one free pass.”

“That’s your free pass of the day, then. Ask me tomorrow.”

“Can I ask you something else instead?”

“I said I would answer your questions.”

And he had, she realized with a suprisedly pleased smile. She didn’t know if he’d keep it up with her next question, though. “What were we there for?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

She continued like he hadn’t said anything. “I know last time you were after the agent database, so I’m assuming you still want that, but I don’t think you’d go through all of this trouble just for that, just in case there’s extra security around those files or something. So what else is worth it that you wouldn’t already know as the former head of Blackwatch?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“You already said that, just tell me.”

“I can’t. It’s Talon business.”

“Well if I was Talon would you tell me?”

A silence fell between them. If she was Talon. The fact that that was even a possibility, no, even a _thought_ , hung between them. She’d meant it as a joke. Well, she didn’t know that; she hadn’t thought about it long enough to know how she meant it. It had just slipped out in their rapid back-and-forth. She wanted to say with full confidence that there was nothing real or serious behind her thoughtless comment.

But she couldn’t. Her mother’s death, being lied to about it by Jack, how Overwatch had scapegoated Gabe (the fact that she knew he probably deserved it now didn’t matter none of them had known it then), a million other reasons to have mixed feelings about Overwatch that couldn’t be pinned down so easily to singular moments…that didn’t mean she just suddenly wanted to join Talon. No, of course not. But. Was it as crazy a possibility as she would like it to be?

Fareeha swallowed and gave a tense smile. “I’m kidding. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“There are worse things than being a part of Talon.”

“Like what?” She didn’t like the seriousness that had come into their words. She’d hoped to just brush it off, move on, but he wasn’t and she found that she couldn’t either.

“Being on the losing side of the fight.” Being on Overwatch’s side. He didn’t have to say it.

“I thought you didn’t want me to fight at all?”

He winced. “I don’t. But that’s not who you are, or who I am. If you have to fight I’d rather you do it with Talon. With me.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze, because she didn’t want to see what was in his eyes. It was easier to think it was just him being an evil mastermind trying to seduce her to join him on the dark side. If looked him the eyes she’d be forced to see that no, it wasn’t that simple, that he had his own reservations and confusions and, mostly, just wanted what was best for his daughter.

“Gabe.” That one word carried the weight of her longing to be with him and for him to be with her, her pain at being faced with such a terribly tempting offer, the simple fear of a child that wants something she knows she can’t have.

He squeezed her hand. “It’s fine. Take your time.”

She pulled away from him slightly, frowning. “It’s not…time won’t make me want…Gabe. Can we leave this alone? Please? I feel like shit for even talking about this with you.”

He kept his hand wrapped around hers, which she was glad for. It still felt like the old Gabe’s hand. “Of course.”

Fareeha leaned her head on his shoulder. They sat like that, silent, seeing how long they could ignore the inevitable realization that they had to leave, that this moment of familiarity and budding understanding between them was about to be shattered. They weren’t Reaper and Pharah. They were just Gabe and Fareeha.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes I went back to university and like Stopped Writing but I'm back hoes sorry for the wait

The knock on her door jolted Angela out of her bed, where she had been laying on her back staring blankly at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The sound was so quiet she almost didn’t hear it, but the silence of the room was so overwhelming that even such a soft noise sounded like a gunshot.

She dragged her weary body to the door, and when she opened it, she didn’t react. She stood there silently with her aching eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“Hi,” Amélie murmured. She looked different now, barefoot in a soft sweater, her hair flowing loose around her face. She held a bottle of wine in one hand and two shining glasses in the other. “Can I come in?”

Angela cast a glance back at her empty bed, like she was somehow expecting Fareeha to be there, like this wasn’t a lonely prison cell. “Amélie…”

Amélie shook her head. “I’m not asking for anything like that. This is just, it’s, um apology wine.” She held up the bottle, laughed slightly, then looked mad at herself. “Sorry. I’m not good at this. It’s new. Can we just talk?”

“Here?” Angela again looked back at her bare, tiny room, which also served to hide the thrill of excitement that ran through her body. Amélie wanted to talk.

“Hm.” Amélie looked thoughtful. “I guess not.” She nodded to herself. “Come with me.”

Angela balked at that, less from unwillingness and more from pure surprise. “Where? I don’t think I’m supposed to leave…”

“You don’t want to leave your room?”

“No, I do, believe me, I just don’t want to do anything I shouldn’t.”

“No one will hurt you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“Right…” Amélie didn’t seem upset at Angela’s first mention of Fareeha. Angela had been worried that with all her talk of love, she would give Amélie the false impression that there was the possibility of something between them. Maybe there would’ve been if Fareeha wasn’t there, but she was, and she had Angela’s heart entirely. “No one will hurt her.”

Angela didn’t look convinced.

“It’s fine.” Amélie waved her hand, the glasses clinking together. “You’re with me.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. It’s fine.”

Logic said that this was a terrible idea on so many fronts. It could be some kind of trap. She’d be endangering Fareeha. But she couldn’t stand another sleepless, lonely, claustrophobic night in here. And Amélie wanted to talk to her. Amélie was acting like  _Amélie,_ albeit a little more unsure, but Angela couldn’t lose this opportunity to save someone she loved.

“Alright.” Angela smiled despite herself. This felt all too familiar, the old thrill of doing something with Amélie she probably shouldn’t. Though this time there would be nothing more than talk between them.

Amélie exhaled. “Good. Follow me?” She glanced around the hall, a playful smile on her lips. “Don’t try anything.”

“Yeah. No need to worry about that.” Part of Angela thought that she could probably take Amélie in a fight with no weapons, if she had both of her arms, maybe. She was stronger than she looked, but so was Amélie, a dancer’s body and now a fighter’s too, so one-armed? Angela wouldn’t stand a chance.

Amélie led her down the halls, and Angela noticed the nervous darting of Amélie’s eyes, the sound of her manicured nails tapping on the wine bottle, and was reassured. Widowmaker, the sniper assassin, didn’t get nervous. Amélie, the woman, did.

“This place is big.”

Amélie shrugged, and it would’ve passed for nonchalance if Angela didn’t know her so well. “No bigger than an Overwatch base.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t stop the surprised noise that popped out when Amélie mentioned Overwatch so casually. “Sorry. I thought you didn’t like to talk about your past…”

“I don’t. Well, I might…I think I might like to. So I’m trying.”

“Oh…” Angela said again, more quietly. “That’s good.”

Amélie shrugged again. “Maybe.” She stopped to punch in a code, then held her finger to her lips as she opened the door to a dark room.

“Where are we?” Angela whispered before stepping inside.

“Common area, my room’s down the hall.”

Angela followed her back to a room that was undeniably Amélie, despite the fact that it was obviously a standard-issue base bedroom. It was as neat and tidy as one might expect from a disciplined sniper, but Angela could see the hints of small Amélie-messiness, sheepskin slippers askew under the bed and makeup more expensive than anything Angela owned scattered across the vanity. And of course there was the extravagance, toned-down given the circumstances, but still glaringly obvious. Silk sheets, stilettos, far too many empty bottles of fancy French wine, all familiar signs of Amélie’s high-class taste (except maybe the number of bottles of wine; Amélie hadn’t been  _that_  much of an alcoholic when Angela had known her).

She sat next to Amélie on the bed and took a glass of wine when Amélie handed it to her. Angela had plenty of things she could ask, like why a supposedly cold-hearted, single-minded killer needed an antique record player, but Amélie had come to talk to her. She’d let Amélie start.

Amélie was going to take a few moments, and a few sips of wine, to start though. She seemed to be teetering between vulnerability and fear, unsure of what she was doing or about to do and partially alright with that, partially terrified of it, wrestling with herself before she could fully decide what to say.

Angela set her glass down on the nightstand so she could rest her hand on top of Amélie’s.

“I guess…first…” Amélie exhaled finally. “I want to apologize.”

“For what?” she asked slowly. Amélie could be apologizing for something she’d said earlier, or for killing Gérard, or any number of things in between.  

“For being angry with you for bringing up emotions in me, I…think I understand…and…I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. So I feel bad for hurting you too. Which is what I’m apologizing for.”

“No, that’s my fault,” Angela winced. “I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. I messed up. Not you. I’m the one who should be sorry, and I am. I know I probably just confused you, and…I did want to make you feel, but not in a bad way like I ended up doing.”

“It wasn’t all bad.” Amélie’s eyes were on her glass. “It’s…I do feel. I have felt. Right after I came back to Talon,  _right_  after they changed me, it worked like they said it would, and it was good because I didn’t…the regret and the guilt weren’t there, those would’ve…probably torn me apart, but I started to feel again. Now it’s…everything’s dull, and distant, almost, it’s all still there, but…”

Amélie shook her head. Her hand, still resting under Angela’s, was curled into a fist. She was struggling, but that meant she was processing, and that she had something to say. “There’s not much happy or good here for me to feel. When I kill, but that’s something different. And Sombra…well. Maybe Sombra. I’m not sure. But you. The way you make me feel, Angela…it’s soft. It’s warm. I haven’t felt warm in a long time.”

Angela laced her fingers through Amélie’s, gently loosening her fist. Though Amélie had paused and by all accounts had said her piece, Angela sensed that there was so much more she wanted to get out, to ask, but it was going to take many pauses and encouragements from Angela for her to keep going. Her voice was a whisper. “You make me feel warm too, Amie.”

“Yeah. I remember.” She laughed slightly. “I’ve always remembered. I told you that. And I told you I just didn’t care, but…I do. I think I always did.”

“Just about me, or…everyone? Everything?” Angela knew Amélie had loved her especially, but she’d also loved Gérard, their friends at Overwatch, people she continued to hurt.

“All of it,” Amélie admitted quietly. “But I never…let myself care as much as I think I could have. I pushed it away.”

At Angela’s silent question of why, she shrugged. “It made things easier.”

“Things. You mean killing.” Angela tried to say that as neutrally as possible, though there was an air of unavoidable judgment. How could there not be?

“Yes. The killing. And being a part of Talon.”

“Why though?” Angela whispered. “If you remembered, if you felt, enough so that you had to  _force_  it away, why? Why work for Talon?”

“Maybe I did have to force it away, maybe I did have some emotions or memories of them, but Angela…I was empty.” Amélie frowned, frustrated at herself. “Not quite empty, but dull, flat, just…nothing brought me joy, I had no purpose, Talon gave me purpose. It still gives me purpose. They put a gun in my hand, tell me where to shoot, and for a moment, I feel alive.”

“Amélie…Overwatch would’ve… _I_  would’ve helped you. All Talon’s done is hurt you.”

“They made me a fighter. I can protect myself now, I’m strong, no one would be able to hold me against my will again.”

“But they, Amélie, what they  _did_  to you, how can you help them?”

She shrugged, and though she seemed a little uncomfortable, she was mostly resigned, as if this was a discussion she’d had and reconciled with herself a long time ago. “I hate Talon sometimes. But…I can’t change the past, and it  _did_  help me, in the end, and…they’re not the worst. So. It’s easier accept it and move on and just work with them. It works out better for me.”

Angela could see what she was saying, objectively, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around Amélie just giving in so easily. “You’re still killing people for a terrorist organization, how can you…”

“Do you really think they would let me leave?”

Angela’s mouth tightened. She had a point. “No.”

Amélie refilled her glass of wine. “Exactly. You’re acting like I really have a choice here.”

“You always have a choice.”

“Says the one who’s fully cooperating without putting up any significant resistance.” Amélie winced, and poured more wine into Angela’s glass despite the fact that it, unlike Amélie’s glass, wasn’t anywhere close to being empty. “That was cruel. But sometimes it’s easier to just go along with things and make the best out of where you are.”

Angela took a gulp of wine. Amélie was right; she was being hypocritical, and though it felt different, it really wasn’t. Even if she had Fareeha to worry about where Amélie hadn’t had someone being held hostage, she still wasn’t putting up a fight. She was still helping Talon, no matter her reasoning. “Maybe it’s easier. That doesn’t make it right.”

“I forgot how much you were worried about right and wrong,” Amélie smiled.

That, at least, was familiar. Though Amélie had certainly not been anything close to what Talon was morally, she’d always been a little more flexible with her morals. She was never into the kind of black and white good and evil distinctions Angela tried and struggled to make. Amélie lived in the grey. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“It is when you end up hurting yourself for some vague moral concept.”

“It’s not ‘some vague moral concept’ it’s me not wanting to help terrorists,” Angela said with raised eyebrows.

Amélie rolled her eyes. “We’re  _not_  having this conversation.”

“Why not?”

“Reaper had the same one with Pharah and he wouldn’t stop rehashing it.” She gave an annoyed, weary exhale. “Literally would not shut up about it.”

“Fareeha?” Angela knew she sounded like an excited little girl, or perhaps a puppy, but she couldn’t help it; any mention of Fareeha, anything to reassure her that Fareeha was not only alive but in a good enough condition to argue with a terrorist, was exiting. “She and Reaper were talking?”

“They were on the mission together, and apparently she would shut up afterwards. Or before.”

“Well if someone needs to be told they’re wrong…”

“She’ll do it, yes, I’m now very aware of that.”

“But she’s alright, then? She’s not hurt?”

“She’s fine.”

“Physically or mentally?” Angela believed in Fareeha’s skills, but betraying their family couldn’t be easy. And seeing them, then being ripped away…

Amélie’s mouth pulled to the side, and Angela watched as she tried to figure out what she was going to say next, and how to word it. “Both. Maybe less so mentally, but…as far as I know she’s fine. It’s not my business, Reaper just never stops running his mouth.”

Angela could take a hint; Amélie didn’t know anything else or have anything more to say. As much as Angela wanted to interrogate her, get every single detail she could about Fareeha (and maybe she’d do that later), for now, she’d let it go. She’d already pushed Amélie too hard before. So she tried a different angle

“So you just have long conversations with Reaper?”

She snorted. “They’d be shorter if he stopped being so dramatic and didn’t complain so much.”

“Really. It’s just…weird to think about. Him, and you…chatting.” Not so weird if Reaper was Gabriel, given how prone he had been to gossiping and complaining, but, even if the hope still lingered, after speaking it aloud to Sombra and going through the logic of how she had failed to save Gabriel, she’d mostly put the idea out of her head. Apparently not all the way, but she  _knew_ , and would tell herself that until she believed it, that it wasn’t true.

Amélie shrugged. “We get along.”

“Really?”

“Why is that surprising?” When Angela looked at her blankly, she added, “We work together quite a lot. We’re on the same team.”

“That’s still weird. He doesn’t seem very friendly.”

“He’s not.” Amélie tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. “Well. He is. Just not to you.”

“So he’s not a dick to  _every_ one.” That sounded familiar.

“Almost everyone.”

“Who is he  _not_  a dick to?”

“Why does it matter?” Amélie asked curiously. “He’s not kind to you. Does it matter which other people he’s nicer to?”

“I just want to know him better. Know your enemy, right? And…I guess what I care about more, much more, is you. Who your…I don’t know if friends is the right word, but who here you’re comfortable with, or can talk with like you apparently talk to Reaper.”

 “I guess that makes more sense.” She looked down as she thought. “Yeah. Friend is…I’m not sure that’s right either.”

“Sombra said you were her friend.” Even though they both knew Sombra was bit more than that, but Angela was curious to see if Amélie, a little more open and willing to talk now, would say anything more than the obvious lie ‘we’re hooking up and it means nothing.’

Amélie laughed. “Sombra is special. Well. She thinks we’re something different than we are, or she wants us to be something different…”

“And what do _you_ want?”

Amélie’s laugh was nervous now. “I don’t know. Maybe I…it might be nice, to love her. She loves me, or something close to it, the beginnings of it, but love isn’t something…I remember it, but I can’t, not now…not yet.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but I feel for Sombra. That’s relatable.”

“No,” Amélie smiled. “I loved you back.”

“Does she know? That you don’t love her? I mean surely she knows that love isn’t your thing…”

“She doesn’t seem to care, or she can’t make herself stop caring about me, but she knows. Reaper made sure I told her. And…” She paused, shaking her head and smiling. “Akande did too. Overkill.”

“What…” Angela blinked, trying to imagine Reaper and Doomfist telling Widowmaker she should be clear about her intentions with Sombra and not break her heart.  “Why would they care?”

“So it doesn’t affect team dynamics.” Amélie smiled again, secretive. “Technically. They don’t want her to get hurt. That’s the real reason.”

“So…you, Sombra, Reaper, and Doomfist?”

“What about us?”

“You’re a squad?” The words sounded ridiculous as soon as they left her mouth, but she was pretty sure it was true. Especially when she thought about it more. Even though the four ran plenty of solo missions, whenever they worked with someone else, it was with each other. That, and Amélie was referring to them so casually, like they hung out a lot.

“I guess you could say that,” Amélie laughed, a little unsure. Then she nodded. “Yes. We’re a squad.”

When Angela didn’t know how to respond, Amélie’s smile widened. “You’re surprised.”

“Obviously.” Her laugh was short, taken off-guard. “You’re all these big, bad…villains, really, you don’t even seem like real people half the time.”

“We’re real,” Amélie said simply. “I was never really a part of Overwatch, no matter how much I loved you and Gérard, but I can imagine this is what it would feel like.”

Angela wanted to protest. The first thought that sprung to her mind was no, this was nothing like Overwatch, Talon was full of mercenaries who wanted to hurt people, Overwatch had been nothing short of a family. But she held her tongue because…when she thought about it, for more than the few seconds of her initial denial, who was to say that Talon couldn’t be a family too?

“Does it feel like family?”

Amélie considered her question, looking at her empty wine glass. “…yes. If a family is two gay dads that fight all the time and…whatever Sombra and me are. Terrible daughters?”

“That sounds like Overwatch,” Angela laughed softly.

“It’s nice,” she said quietly. “I was lonely before I had them. I still am lonely, often, but not nearly as much.”

“I didn’t realize you were so close,” Angela admitted.

“It’s hard not to be. I  _tried_  not to be, I thought it would be easier if I became what they made me to be, solitary and cold and focused, but Reaper…” A smile ghosted Amélie’s lips. “I don’t know. It was like he saw something in me that he wanted to, to…not protect, exactly, but he was relentless. And then Sombra, of course, and Akande too. It just kind of happened. I’m glad it did.”

Angela was silent as she looked down at her glass, trying to reconcile the idea of the idea of the ruthless killers she thought she knew with the stubbornly caring humans Amélie described. That reconciliation wasn’t something that could happen in a moment. But for Amélie’s sake, she was happy that this place wasn’t full of monsters, just people in the guise of monsters. “I’m glad. That they’re good to you, even if…”

“Even if?”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Even if they’ve done terrible things.”

“So have I.” Amélie said it calmly, solidly. This was something she had spent time considering and accepted. It was indisputable fact.

Angela still had to dispute it, though, because there was the underlying assumption that if she had done terrible things, that made her a terrible person. Maybe that was just her own assumption, but she couldn’t bear Amélie to think she was terrible. She wasn’t. “That’s different. They all chose to do what they’ve done.”

“So did I.”

“Amélie, none of them were brainwashed. None of them have been through half of what you have.”

“They’ve all been through hell. They all have their reasons. And that has nothing to with me; even if me joining Talon wasn’t completely my choice, the things I’ve done, I’ve chosen, I’ve pulled the trigger, I’ve enjoyed them, Angela.” Her voice was growing hotter. “I’m not completely without agency. You can’t take that away from me, you can’t make me some helpless, innocent victim in all of this. I’m not.”

Angela blinked, wide-eyed and mute, because that was exactly what she was doing. In her mind, Amélie  _was_  a victim. No, not even in her mind, Amélie was literally a victim…but…maybe not helpless. Maybe not completely innocent, either. She knew Amélie and Widowmaker were the same person, but they still felt separate to her; Amélie was the kidnapped, tortured woman and Widowmaker was the cold-hearted killer.

“Well, do you have anything to say?” Amélie snarled.

Did she? “I’m…I understand but…I don’t want to. I don’t want to see you like that,” she admitted finally, her voice barely audible.

“Like what, who I am?” The snarl had left her voice, like she hadn’t meant to let it come in in the first place and regretted it, but she still spoke intently, needing to convince Angela, or at least know where she stood.

“That’s not who you are.” Angela winced and shook her head. “Maybe it is. But not to me…that’s not who I want you to be. I can’t accept it…”

“The truth, you mean. You can’t accept the truth.”

She shook her head again, slowly, bewildered. “Truth is relative…”

“It’s  _me_. I get to decide who I am. Not you.”

“Of course…” But the way Angela spoke it was clear that she didn’t quite believe what she was saying. She knew she  _should_  believe it, but she didn’t actually.

Amélie knew Angela didn’t mean it. She was frowning, she was frustrated, and Angela didn’t blame her. Angela was frustrated with herself too, but couldn’t yet shake her deep-seated need to take the blame away from Amélie.

“You’re so stubborn,” Amélie said stubbornly. “You’re wrong. You know that, right?”

“Maybe so.”

“You’re so infuriating, too.” Amélie rolled her eyes. “No wonder everyone complains about you.”

“Everyone? I’ve only spoken to Sombra and Reaper, and you.”

“Well. Mostly Reaper. All he talks about are you and Pharah now; it’s very annoying.”

Angela didn’t let herself think what she wanted to, about who would care so much about her and Fareeha. She forced a smile. “What does he say? About Fareeha, mostly.”

“Do you think I listen to everything he says?” Amélie laughed. “I tune him out half the time. Especially when he’s on one of his rants.”

“Come on, Amie, I know you. You love gossip. You love knowing things.” Angela swallowed. “I’m worried about her. I know you said she was fine, but…”

“She is.” Amélie’s voice was sadder now, the way she’d been earlier when talking about Fareeha. She tried to shrug it off. “You’ll see her soon, I’m sure.”

Angela sighed; she could hear what Amélie wasn’t saying. “I care about you. You know that. And you can’t blame her, Amélie. Even if I wasn’t with her…things are so different now. We couldn’t just go back to what we were.”

Amélie’s mouth twisted. She knew Angela was right but she didn’t have to like it. “That’s not what I want. I don’t want to be who I was.”

Angela put her hand on Amélie’s shoulder. “You weren’t weak. I know you think you were, but you weren’t.”

“Compared to what I am now. Yes.”

“It’s just a different kind of strength… Amélie, you were so brave. You threw yourself into Overwatch even though you had no training, no experience, you were never afraid. Even when Talon was going after Gérard, he was so worried about you, but you were so strong. You weren’t scared.”

Amélie had something like a smile and a wince on her lips. “I was plenty scared.”

“Not as much as Gérard, and he was one of Overwatch’s best agents.”

“Maybe. I still don’t want to be the person I used to be.” She shook her head. “It’s less about not wanting to be who I was and more that…I  _can’t_  be her anymore. Even if everything Talon did to me somehow went away, what I’ve done will never go away. That’s why, when you tell me it’s not my fault…what I’ve done is such a big part of who I am now. If that’s not even really me, if I don’t even have that to hold onto…who am I?”

Angela was quiet. Finally, she felt like she understood. So that was why Amélie was so desperate to hold onto the terrible things she’d done: they were just about all she could claim as her own, to give her some small sense of identity. And it still hurt Angela, to think that Amélie had killed out of anything other than being brainwashed to, but that didn’t matter, did it? It wasn’t about her. It was about Amélie.

“You’re Amélie,” Angela murmured. “You’re everything that’s happened to you, everything you’ve done…but you’re everything you want to be. It’s up to you. Which parts of that you claim as yours, and which you don’t. You get to choose. That’s your right.”

“And if I choose to kill? If…I choose Talon?” Angela couldn’t tell if she meant it, or if she was just testing the waters; Amélie was cautious and quiet.

Angela shrugged sadly. “That’s your choice.”

“But you wouldn’t like it.”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t stop me?”

She laughed. “Amie, I don’t think I  _could_  stop you.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 9 & 11 have been revised with major (I think good) plot changes, hmu if you don't want to reread, also, blease, constructive criticism is not the same as being an asshole one is amazing one is not the world could always use more heroes or whatever be nice <3

Amélie held Angela’s hand, guiding her through the dark hallway. Angela would’ve been nervous to do that before their conversation; it would’ve seemed like she was inviting something she wasn’t. And though she wasn’t completely convinced that Amélie had given up on loving her, because she knew from experience that you couldn’t give up on love so quickly, she felt an acceptance from Amélie. So the touch of her hand, still unnervingly cool, was alright. It was alright.

“Do other people live here?” Angela murmured. She glanced around the dark hall, her worry creeping back. “Will they…care?”

“My team,” Amélie shrugged. “And I don’t care if they care.”

Angela bit her lip. From that response, it sounded like they _would_ care. And even if that didn’t matter to Amélie, it might matter to Angela, who’d be the one actually affected if someone here decided they didn’t like their prisoner wandering around their home at night. “They won’t hurt Fareeha, will they? If they find me here?”

Amélie sighed. “No. Well. I won’t let them. I’m the one who wanted you to come here. This is on me, not you.”

“Thanks,” Angela smiled slightly, reassured but not completely.

“You worry too much.”

“True. But…”

“But you’re not going to stop worrying.”

“No. Worrying about people is how I keep them safe; no one I love worries about themselves enough.” Maybe that was what characterized most of Overwatch: a reckless disregard for personal safety. At least most of the time it served a purpose, to complete a mission or save a life, but it still stressed Angela, the one who had to clean up the messes, to no end. If she didn’t worry about them and try to get them to look after themselves a little more, no one would.

They reentered the living area they had passed through before, lava lamp still the only thing glowing. It seemed they would be able to leave undetected, not that there looked like there was anyone in the room, when Angela heard a crunch in front of her like Amélie had stepped on a half-empty bag of chips, closely followed by the crunch of chips themselves underfoot.

“Ugh!” Amélie’s loud, very French disgusted noise seemed to be reflexive, as did the muttered French tirade that followed, “That bitch is the messiest human being I have ever met she never fucking cleans up after herself I’m going to kill her.”

She heard a groan and saw a tell-tale glowing half-shaven head poke up over the back of the couch. Shit.

Amélie didn’t seem concerned that Sombra, yawning, was sure to notice Angela standing in the room. Angela couldn’t see her face in the darkness, but she didn’t need to to know that Amélie was furious.

Amélie snatched the bag from the ground, marched over to Sombra, and dumped the crumbled remains on the other woman’s head with a flourish. “Clean up your shit, you filthy piece of trash.”

Sombra moaned and shook most of the crumbs off her head. “I was gonna finish those. I got sleepy.”

“If you were going to finish them, why were they in the middle of the floor?”

“I think I dropped them? I dunno, araña, it’s not a big deal.”

“There is Dorito powder all over my feet and crumbs in between my toes. It is a big deal. It’s disgusting.”

“If you think that’s bad you should see what G-”

“Shut up.”

Angela was surprised at the force with which Amélie interrupted Sombra; what had she been about to say? Maybe it was an excuse Amélie had heard too many times, or maybe she was trying to end the conversation that she’d started out of blind anger and now realized that Angela was standing uncomfortably still and quiet and trying to not be noticed.

Of course Sombra noticed her, nosy as she was. The woman’s eyes narrowed in a way Angela could only describe as jealous, though that jealousy was quickly shoved aside in favor of playful curiosity. The latter was certainly genuine, but Angela had a feeling it was also serving to hide the more revealing, instinctual envious reaction.

“Is the widow taking you back to her web?” Sombra said as she wiggled her brows.

“No. We’re leaving.”

Sombra’s eyes and mouth widened. “Oh so she _already_ took you back to her web.”

“We were just talking.”

Sombra laughed at that. “Really? Just talking? Two older lovers alone at night? Somehow I don’t believe it.”

“What, are you jealous?” Angela said with a laugh of her own.

“No,” Sombra snapped jealously. She seemed to notice her own unintentional tone, an easy smile sliding onto her face as she winked at them both. “No need. I know she’s mine.”

Amélie sniffed delicately. “You pretty little idiot. I’m no one’s.”

Sombra flipped herself over the couch and popped a kiss on Amélie’s cheek, ducking when Amélie tried to swat her away. “So you think I’m pretty.”

Fareeha would’ve snorted and said, Yeah, pretty ugly; Angela could practically hear it in her head and laughed to herself, covering her mouth when she realized that it was an audible noise.

Sombra rounded on her. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re very pretty,” Angela laughed.

“Hmm.” Sombra draped an arm over Angela’s shoulder. “Maybe araña has the right idea with you.”

Angela raised her eyebrow but didn’t move Sombra’s arm. She was fairly certain this was all a joke to Sombra. Well, the stuff involving her was a joke; the things involving Amélie, however…that was the most genuine she’d seen Sombra so far. 

Angela heard a snort that didn’t come from any of the three of them. She whipped around and saw, pale and growing in the dark, Reaper’s mask.

“Oh. My. God.” She shook Sombra’s arm off of her, marched over to the door, fumbled for the lights then flipped them on, illuminating Amélie, Sombra, Reaper, and yes, bright orange Dorito dust on the floor. “Does no one here know how to use a fucking light switch?”

Reaper stood at a counter she hadn’t noticed in the dark, a jar of extra crunchy peanut butter and a half-made sandwich in front of him. He held his knife in a gloved hand. Angela could put up with running into Sombra. Barely. But she couldn’t quite handle _two_ terrorists popping up on her out of nowhere after a heart-to-heart with Amélie when all she wanted to do was go back to her bed and sleep and for a few hours to forget she was here and everyone she loved was suffering. So she was a little exasperated and snappy even though everyone in the room could definitely kill her with barely any effort.

“You’re making a sandwich in the dark. With your mask on. Why. What the hell.”

He ignored her, calmly spreading the remainder of his peanut butter and sandwiching the bread together like she hadn’t said anything. As he did so, she pushed back the memory of Gabriel making post-mission extra crunchy peanut butter sandwiches at midnight.When she was about to speak again, he said, “Bold words from a prisoner out of her cell.”

“I’m with Amélie. I’m fine.” She didn’t let on that a few minutes before she’d been worried about that very thing.

Reaper turned his head to Amélie and she shrugged, completely unbothered. “I wanted to talk to her.”

“About what?”

“None of your business.”

Reaper snorted. “You’re a member of my team. She’s my prisoner. It’s definitely my business.” Angela had the distinct impression of a father talking to a snippy daughter. Or Gabriel talking to Fareeha. She couldn’t even deny that to herself; the tone, the words, literally everything sounded like something Gabriel would’ve said to Fareeha.

“ _Your_ team.” Amélie rolled her eyes. “ _Your_ prisoner.”

“Yes?”

Amélie’s reply was quick and tart. “No, Akande’s. Banging the boss doesn’t make you the boss.”

Sombra giggled. Angela for her part was astonished. It was partially what Amélie had said – Reaper and Doomfist were having sex? – but also the way she’d said it, and Sombra’s reaction too, the feeling of casual, familiar banter. They were Talon, all of them murderers, wanted terrorists, yet it felt like she was in the Overwatch breakroom listening to Ana roast Gabriel while Jack tried not to laugh. It felt familial and normal, and she didn’t know how she felt about that.

Reaper was unfazed. “Still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Yeah, answer it.” Sombra regarded them with almost-hidden jealousy.

Amélie rolled her eyes again but with slightly more frustration this time. “Personal things. Okay? Nothing relevant.”

“It’s all relevant.” He sounded like he was enjoying this.

“Can you leave her alone?” Angela snapped despite herself. She’d had a very long day, a very long week in fact, and was sick and tired of dealing with these two when all she wanted to do was leave.

“No,” came Reaper and Sombra’s simultaneous responses.

“I’m just concerned because of the wine,” Sombra added, her “concern” dripping with false sweetness. “Makes me think a little more than a ‘conversation’ is going to happen.”

“It’s apology wine,” Amélie shrugged.

Angela couldn’t help but be fascinated by Amélie’s reactions and behavior. Clearly she was comfortable with Reaper and Sombra, friendly even, but still guarded.

“Apology for what?” Reaper leaned forward on the counter like a teenage girl ready to hear the latest gossip.

Amélie blinked, looking distinctly uncomfortable, and there was the barest hint of a frustrated blue blush on her cheeks. “I told you it was none of your business.”

“Araña, come on, you _always_ gossip with us,” Sombra cajoled. “What’s so special about Mercy that you won’t talk about her?”

At this point Angela stepped in, crossing her arms and telling them, “Can you just get back to whatever evil shit you’re supposed to be doing and leave us be?”

She felt Reaper’s attention shift to her. “You’re awfully protective of her.”

Angela raised her eyebrow. “Yes? I know she doesn’t need it, but that never stopped me.”

“I thought you were with Pharah.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “I am.”

“Lacroix isn’t Pharah.” He was almost impish, speaking matter-of-factly but still very clearly just trying to provoke her or get on her nerves. A familiar tone. Again.

“Obviously.”

“Interesting,” he mused, though there was a hard edge to his voice, a protective one. “It almost seems like you’ve forgotten her. Maybe we should start threatening Lacroix instead of Pharah. Might get you to cooperate better.”

Angela rolled her eyes dismissively. “She’s your family. You won’t actually hurt her.”

“My family?” he scoffed.

“Yeah.” She rolled her tongue in her mouth, debating what she was about to say, but decided fuck it and put it out there. If she was wrong, she could put her mental conspiracy theories to rest, but if she was right…the words came out like knives. “Your team and your family are the same thing, Reyes.”

Their frozen reactions told her she was right, even if they only lasted a split second before the three of them tried to shake it off and act like nothing had happened. Sombra laughed, but Angela wasn’t looking at her. Her eyes were on Reaper, his hand curled tight around the knife, head tilted down, body taut.

 “We’re leaving,” Amélie murmured to Sombra, taking her arm and starting to walk away.

Sombra shook her hand off, staring wide-eyed and excited and intrigued, though her voice was low, the only one breaking the silence between Angela and…Gabriel. “No, this’ll be good, I need to stay.”

Amélie whispered something into Sombra’s ear that made her eyes light up. “Now come.”

Her mind changed, Sombra melted away with Amélie, back to Amélie’s room. Angela almost wished they had stayed, but she couldn’t get her lips to move or her throat to make any noise other than a soft, confused sound.

“Gabriel…” she whispered finally. Then it hit her, like saying his name aloud had broken some kind of floodgate in her mind, and she rocked back on her heels. “Oh. _Oh._ Gabriel, I…I’m so sorry…I’m…I never meant… _God_ , you’re alive, but…”

Her hand went to her mouth as she choked back tears. She didn’t know what she felt. Joy. He was alive. Anger. He was Reaper. Grief, and guilt, and shame, because that, and the way his body blurred, that was her fault. And she felt maybe she deserved this. Him taking her, him hurting her; “do no harm,” but that was exactly what she’d done.

He was silent as she stood there, shaking her head and processing and trying to keep her tears from spilling out, but his gloved hand clutched a death-grip on the knife. She couldn’t see his face, though she wondered what was under there, what she’d turned this man she’d loved and still loved so much into, and what he was thinking, looking at her now.

“You’re alive,” she repeated softly, amazed. And it was amazing, even if it wasn’t quite the right kind of alive. She’d brought someone back from the dead, and even more important, she’d brought _Gabriel_ back.

He snorted. “Mostly.” And she could hear the Gabriel in his voice so clearly now, both in the sound and the sass; she wondered how she’d ever doubted herself.

Angela stepped closer to him, hesitant, but she didn’t think he would hurt her. He hadn’t, really, and he’d had plenty of opportunities to actually do so; he wouldn’t now. Well. Gabriel wouldn’t. Reaper might, but…still, all he’d done, mostly, was growl at and intimidate her. She could handle more of that. She had when he was all Gabriel.

She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” His voice was honest, but flat; he knew she was sorry but he didn’t know if that was enough.

“You’re still…”

“I’m still Gabriel Reyes. Enough of me is, anyways.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know if that made it better or worse, like with Amélie, to know that the person she loved was still there and was making these choices. “Then why…”

“Be more specific.”

Angela looked at him sharply. “Why Talon? Why the murder? Why…why not come back to me for help?” She ended on a desperate note. “I could’ve _helped_.”

“If this is what your help looks like,” he made a sweeping gesture towards himself, “I’ve had quite enough.”

“Well. I’ve gotten better. I could still help, while I’m here, I don’t know, if I can fix it but I can try, it’s worth a try…you know I never meant for this to happen to you, Gabriel.”

“I know. But I’m also wondering what you were thinking would happen when you tried to bring someone back to life.”

“I…wasn’t,” she admitted. “I wasn’t thinking about the theory or the science, I was thinking that my friend, my _friend_ was lying dead in front of me and I had to try something, anything.”

“Why weren’t you there when I woke up, then?” Pain had entered his voice.

“The whole building was collapsing…Reinhardt dragged me away, I screamed for him to stop, I tried to tell him that you were there, you were still there, and I was never sure if it even worked. If I even did anything for you, and then you weren’t there when they went through the rubble, not that that meant anything, your body could’ve been buried like so many others’. But I tried. I didn’t want to leave you.”

“You know,” he said after a pause, “when I woke up, if you could call it that, all I could feel was pain. My body, ripping itself apart then stitching itself back together. Can you even imagine what that feels like?”

“More than you might guess.”

“It was terrible. It still is terrible.”

“And I’m sorry,” she said helplessly, hopelessly. “It’s not enough, and I know that, but, Gabriel, I’ll do whatever I can to make up for it, I’ll, anything, I want to make this right, or make it better. You have every right to blame me.”

“I don’t.”

Angela looked at him sharply. “It…sounds like you do. Which, is fair, it was my fault.”

He exhaled. “You’re right. It is your fault. I’m still angry.” He sounded like he was having trouble getting the words out, but he pushed through. “But you didn’t mean to do it, you feel bad about it, and you want to fix it. And…Fareeha doesn’t want me to hate you, so. I’m working on it.”

“Fareeha?” Angela’s eyes lit up, as they always did when Fareeha was mentioned. Gabriel working on forgiving her was nice and all and she’d definitely take a moment to appreciate that later, but for the present, she was focused on Fareeha. “She knows?”

“Yes.”

“How…was that?”

“Different.”

“I can imagine,” she said with a short laugh that was almost pitying. As much as she loved Gabriel and he’d been an important mentor in her life not to mention her gossipy gay uncle, he’d been a dad to Fareeha, especially after her mother had died. Fareeha was sure to take this much harder. “I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

“Barely,” he snorted, and they both smiled, and for a brief shimmering moment things felt normal, like what they would’ve been if Gabriel had never faked his own death or joined Talon, the two of them bonding over their love of Fareeha and mutual experience with her anger. But the smile faded from her lips as soon as she realized it was there, and Gabriel cleared his throat, and they returned to reality. “She was angrier.”

“Yeah.” Angela raised her eyebrows. “Although I’m angry too. Definitely am.”

“I never knew you to cry when you were angry.”

She pursed her lips. “I cried because I felt guilty, and I still do, but you know, now that you mention it, _Gabriel_ , I _am_ furious, what the fuck? What the actual fuck? You, you founded Overwatch, now you’re trying to end it? Can you, I don’t know, explain that?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.” He sounded irritated, but mostly tired; if she had to guess she’d say he’d already had to explain himself to Fareeha too. Didn’t matter. He needed to explain himself to her too.

“You sure as hell do. Because I know, I _know_ it wasn’t jealousy of Jack or money or hell, even what I did to you, you’re not that shallow, so why the fuck are you trying to tear down the organization you built?”

She didn’t know how he was going to react. He was stiff, his face inscrutable under that damn mask. Once again she was almost afraid, but that was wiped away by her anger; she was five foot seven of fury.

He relented, though unwillingly. “When Overwatch was disbanded, it wasn’t what it used to be.”

“Look, you’re right, and even ‘what it used to be,’ that golden state everyone loves to talk about, it’s not like it was perfect then; you of all people should know, you had to sit through plenty of meetings with me saying just that. But it’s different now, it’s better.”

“You really believe that?”

“It’s not like I have a choice!” Angela threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “Just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s bad, it can still be good, what’s more important is that we’re still _doing_ good.”

Gabriel snorted. “I’d expect that kind of idealism from Fareeha, but even if you dress up like an angel I thought you’d have a little more perspective and realism than someone raised as a child in Overwatch.”

“First off, that costume design was all you, mister skull-face claw-gloves dramatic ass black coat wearing fucker, so I don’t want to hear anything on that front. And I do have perspective, we both do, neither of us see Overwatch as some kind of Holy Grail that will save the world. But it’s better than nothing. Better than being murderers like you.”

She could tell he was rolling his eyes under his mask, and she was rolling hers too. “Seriously, Gabriel, you know, actually, what I really want to ask is why you’re killing our friends. I don’t want to argue Talon versus Overwatch because I’m sure you can argue for Talon but I don’t see how you can argue for hunting down and killing people you used to call family.”

“Better me than someone else.” His tone said he was finished with that line of questioning, and this time, she didn’t think she wanted to push it; he was a step away from real anger, perhaps held back because of what he’d told Fareeha about forgiving her, but she’d seen Gabriel snap into fury, and that was Gabriel. Truly furious Reaper? Not just pretending to be furious so as to be more menacing Reaper? That wasn’t something she wanted to see.

But his words were still revelatory, and maybe that was partially why he was angry, for giving something away as much as him just not wanting to keep talking about it. He still cared. Even if he was Talon, he still cared enough about Overwatch to…to kill them himself? She almost laughed at how dumb that thought sounded, but then again, everyone Reaper had killed had been killed quickly and cleanly; perhaps that was some small sign of compassion.

“Fine,” she exhaled, the fire fading from her eyes. She hadn’t lost it, but what would her rage do now? Make him feel guilty, punish him? Not that he didn’t deserve it, but coming from her, it felt petty and unnecessary; he’d done so many wrong things but she wasn’t blameless either. Besides, based on what he’d said and what she knew of her love, Fareeha would’ve already torn him apart. Maybe that was why he seemed so tired.

But she still didn’t want to let him slip away, Gabriel, her friend, and they were alone, and he was being somewhat himself…she couldn’t lose that. There was one topic at least she was sure they both agreed on. “Is Fareeha alright, though?”

“If you think I’d hurt her – ”

“No, not like that, I know you’d never hurt her, Gabriel, never. Me, maybe, but never Fareeha.”

“Do you really think I’d hurt you either?” he said like it pained him.

Angela blinked. “If…it helped Talon…

“Do you think so little of me?” He sighed roughly. “If I can get through this without hurting either of you I will. That doesn’t mean I’m not loyal to Talon, because I am, and if it had to happen to get the job done I can’t say I wouldn’t do it but Jesus Angela, I love her and damn if that doesn’t mean I love you too.”

There was a silence as they both felt the gravity of his words, but it was a pleased silence, as it confirmed what Angela had hoped, and for Gabriel, that maybe he was still himself, not as twisted as he perhaps might have been.

“Thank you, then. For looking out for her. And me,” she said with a hesitant, but grateful, smile. “More…her than me, though, given that she’s out running missions and I’m just here treating injured agents.”

He could hear the questions she wasn’t asking; how did the mission go, what even was the mission, how was Fareeha. He only chose to answer one, but at least it was the most important. “Fareeha did what was needed, she…,” Gabriel chuckled, “she had to look after me too.”

“Did you do something impulsive and reckless that she had to cover for?” Her voice was almost mocking; though Gabriel had always been tactical and certainly loved his careful plans, when they broke down he could be counted on to do something risky to save the mission. That, and the fact that his logic crumbled when faced with certain weaknesses like, say, anything related to Jack Morrison.

“Maybe. She _did_ stop Winston from trying to kill me.”

“Didn’t you try to kill him?”

“I didn’t actually. If I had he’d be dead.”

“From what he said it sure didn’t sound like that; it sounded like he fought his ass off and still barely survived.”

“Someone needs to teach him how to fight then if that’s his best,” Gabriel snorted, sounding like himself, condescending but in a helpful way; roasted with love.

Angela raised her eyebrows in agreement. “He’s a scientist, not a fighter, but he’s doing his best. And we do have other fighters on our team…did Genji, or Lena…” She trailed off as more questions sprang to mind; had they fought him and Fareeha? Were they alright, physically, and emotionally after seeing Fareeha working with Reaper?

“They’re fine. They were focused on Fareeha, not me.”

“I guess that’s good…” She’d ask Fareeha more about that, then. “So it sounds like Fareeha just filled in for her mom and protected your dumb ass.”

Even if she couldn’t see his face she could see how his body stiffened, then slowly relaxed as he exhaled, him not wanting to agree with her but relenting after he realized she was right. “Possibly.”

“Come on, Gabriel, don’t tell me you’re mad at her too. Out of everyone from back in the day, the one who’s actually dead and never even screwed you over when you were alive isn’t the one I’d pick.”

“Hm.” He sounded like he disagreed with her, but she wasn’t sure why.

“What did Ana ever do to you? She died before – ”

“How about we stop talking about what other people have done and start talking about what _you_ did?”

Gabriel spoke with such viciousness that she took a small step back, leaning away from him instinctively, though she was still confused. It was just a more cautious confusion now; no matter how brave she was and how much him being Gabriel made this easier, Reaper, when actually angry like he was now and not just that fake intimidating angry, was mildly terrifying. Not that she would show him she was anything more than a little concerned.

“Do we have to go through this again?” She shook her head. “I mean, I will, I guess, but I don’t know how many times I can say how sorry I am and that I’ll do anything to help fix what I did without sounding like a broken record.”

“Not that. I told Fareeha I’d try to forgive you for that and I’m done lying to her; I’m talking about everything else.”

He was still cruel and she was still frozen, her mind racing behind her wide, glassy eyes as she tried to remember how else she could’ve betrayed Gabriel; nothing really seemed as big of a deal as turning him into this, but…yeah. Alright. She could see how that would read as a betrayal. “Is this…about the U.N.? The trial, and…”

“And the time you threw me under the bus? Yes. Great detective work, there, Mercy.”

She was seconds away from breaking down again in another tearful apology, but honestly, him calling her Mercy, that classic, stupid taunt, how dare she be a person that made mistakes instead of a perfect real-life angel, fire snapped into her eyes and she crossed her arms.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. You know, maybe you and Jack could’ve defended yourselves or I don’t know told the truth of whatever the fuck happened if you hadn’t faked your own deaths. And don’t give me that bull about oh, I was suffering, I’m sure you were but I’m sure you could’ve pulled yourself together months later for a five-minute statement. Don’t blame me for saying the only things I could.”

He leaned towards her, hands bracing himself on the counter, but this time she leaned towards him too, challenge in both of their bodies. “You dragged me through the mud. You didn’t touch Jack.”

Angela huffed. “I called it like I saw it, Reyes, I said that you _both_ changed, you were _both_ growing dangerous and frankly kind of terrifying when you were together, I wasn’t the only one that saw it, either. Why do you think Reinhardt and Torbjorn said what they did? What do you think Ana would’ve said if she was still alive? You really think she would’ve taken your side?”

She swallowed and glanced away. Maybe that was a low blow, but she couldn’t regret that truth, or the ones she’d told at the hearing. “I didn’t take sides. If you paid attention and weren’t so determined to be a victim you would’ve noticed that. If anything I sided against Overwatch itself, not you or Jack or any one person.”

“Then why are you so keen on getting the band back together?” he snarled.

“I’m _not_.” Her mouth fell open. “Is that what this is about? That you worked so hard to tear Overwatch down and now we’re just rebuilding it, undoing all your effort?”

She could hear the curl of his lip in his voice. “I don’t give a damn about what you choose to do. But I _do_ care when you drag Fareeha into it.”

 _That’s_ what this was really about then. Oh, she was sure he wasn’t over exaggerating his anger at her for selling him out (not that she even fucking did that) or for working to put Overwatch back together after all those years being adamant it should stay dead, but beneath all of that was something she could understand more, though it made her seethe no less because of how outright wrong it was.

“You think I dragged her into this? You think I got the call from Winston, hopped right on a plane to the Watchpoint and took helpless little Fareeha along with me? She’s not a little kid, Gabriel, she makes her own choices and this was without a doubt her choice. If anything she dragged me into it. You know, I think I get it; you want to protect her and it’s easier to do that if you can tell yourself her being with Overwatch isn’t her choice. That’s just fucking wrong. I said maybe not, she said hell yeah, what choice did _I_ have? I wasn’t going to leave her, or let her leave me. So. All this superiority, all this misdirected anger, you can take it and shove it up your ass. I’m not some evil mastermind determined to ruin both of your lives; the difference between you is that Fareeha acts like a fucking adult and deals with her trauma without murdering people.”

Angela was trembling and Gabriel, his body was so tense she thought his muscles would snap. She felt she’d crossed a line, or ten, but she wasn’t in the habit of apologizing for speaking the truth and she knew, she _knew_ he wouldn’t, couldn’t actually hurt her. He’d have done it by now, snapped and reached across the counter, which didn’t seem like enough of a barrier between them, to break her neck. He could do it too. There was nothing stopping him from killing her in anger here and now except that he needed her, Fareeha loved her, and no matter what else he was Gabriel Reyes was not a purposeless murderer. He didn’t kill in thoughtless rage.

“Gabriel _please_ tell me we’ve got some alone time tonight.”

Their gazes both snapped to the door. Doomfist, yawning, shambling through the door with the same casual air that Sombra and Amélie had in this space, though when he looked over and saw them, still flaming and tense and by all appearances about one second from a fight, he frowned, his gaze moving slowly between them. “I’m not even going to ask.”

“Good. I’m leaving. Have some good fucking alone time with him.” Angela brushed out the door, and when Doomfist grabbed her shoulder, she looked at him with venom in her eyes. “I know where I’m going. I’m not going to try to escape. It’s probably more dangerous leaving me here with that asshole than letting me walk back to my prison cell alone. Well? Are you going to let me go?”

His eyebrows were raised, and she saw amusement and curiosity in his eyes, but he took his strong hand off of her. “Don’t try anything.”

She snorted. “I’ve heard that one before. I won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to give y'all a heads up that the next update will be a while again. I'm scrapping what was supposed to be the next chapter because it was too angsty and I hated it (but if you love death hmu I'll send it to you, maybe post here as a bonus feature??? idk???), so I have to rework that basically from scratch, and kind of redo my outline etc etc etc; don't worry about me abandoning this story, though, I don't plan to.
> 
> Anyways, let me know what you thought, comments are what keep me going and motivated to write, I really appreciate all of them :)


	13. Chapter 13

“She’s in there?”

Gabe stood next to the closed door with his arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, but the eagerness in her voice and hope in her eyes softened him when he spoke despite it only being one word. “Yes.”

“I know you said you would do this, and of course I believed you, but, thank you anyways. Thank you.” Fareeha hugged him like it was nothing, even though it was something, to both of them. She hugged him like nothing had changed for them, simple touch, and he tried for the same but his grip was too tight and he was too reluctant to let her go.

She hadn’t forgiven him; she didn’t know if she ever could, or if forgiveness was even what either of them needed, acceptance, maybe, resignation, but she was filled with such anticipation that diffused into even her complicated feelings on him, so she was simply glad when she looked up at him. Maybe he had torn her away from Angela, but he was reuniting them now, and for the present, that was enough.

Fareeha opened the door and stood there for a moment. Angela, hunched over a desk looking at her holoscreen. Her face was scrunched up in concentration and she was chewing the end of her pen like she always did when she was stressed. Her hair was messier than usual and the dark circles under her eyes were extra prominent, but she was without a doubt the most beautiful woman Fareeha had ever seen, and all she could do was stand there and stare.

“Did you come here for a reason or are you just going to stand there like a creep?” Angela snapped without looking up from her work or breaking her concentration.

Fareeha bit back a smile, but before she could say anything, Angela looked up, her expression of narrow-eyed exasperation and distrust melting away in an instant.

They were in each other’s arms seconds later. Neither of them said anything; they didn’t need to. Faces buried in each other’s shoulders, arms wrapped around bodies with fingers digging in tight, they were where they were meant to be.

Fareeha lifted her off the ground without even trying, just a momentary result of the strength of her hug, the grip of her hands on Angela’s back.

Their tears mingled together, their soft, relieved sobs the only sound in the room. They didn’t need words for this. They knew how each other felt. They knew.

It could have been one minute or twenty when they eventually pulled back, eyes glistening, gentle smiles playing on their lips.

“Why were you just standing there staring at me?” Angela whispered, her smile widening.

“I like seeing you work,” she admitted almost shyly. “You look so beautiful when you’re buried deep in something, when you’re so focused and unaware…I just had to take a moment to watch you.”

She laughed and kissed Fareeha on the lips, the most beautiful sound Fareeha had ever heard and the purest touch. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard but we could’ve been hugging while you were doing that, come on.”

Fareeha laughed, sudden pressure in her chest filling her with love just like when she’d first started falling for Angela. “Don’t tell me how to love you, _shamsi_.”

Angela thumped Fareeha on the chest with her fist, beaming, and Fareeha saw her own explosion of love reflected in Angela’s eyes. “Don’t be stupid and I won’t have to.”

But then Fareeha’s gaze fell to the empty space at Angela’s side where her arm should’ve been. She’d known the hit that had knocked them out of the air had hurt Angela’s arm, but she didn’t think it was that bad, definitely not bad enough for the whole thing to be removed. Angela had fixed up far worse, so she wasn’t expecting that, hadn’t prepared for seeing the woman she loved so broken.

Angela twined the fingers of her remaining hand with Fareeha’s, her smile now closed-lipped, but accepting. She was trying to make Fareeha less worried, as she always did, always trying to protect even when she was in pain.

Angela shrugged. “It’s fine. My arm was too damaged, I guess, but, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?” Fareeha’s grip on her hand tightened. She didn’t believe her. She knew how Angela was with her own suffering; she would help the people she loved to the ends of the earth, but she never showed half that amount of care to herself.

She gave Fareeha’s hand a squeeze. “Yes.”

“You know, I really don’t believe you,” Fareeha said, raising her eyebrows as she lifted Angela’s hand to her lips to kiss her knuckles.

“No, really, it’s…not the worst thing.” Angela shook her head and laughed, looking surprised at her own words.

Fareeha was just as surprised. “What’s worse?”

“Everything?” She shook her head again. “It’s easier, somehow, than everything else. Than losing you…”

Fareeha’s grip on her hand tightened. “You didn’t lose me. I’m right here.”

Angela couldn’t hide the fear that lingered on her face. She tried to smile again but it was weak, wavering. “I know, but…”

But it had felt like they’d been lost to each other. Fareeha knew because she’d felt the same, believing that they would see each other again because there was no other way to keep moving, knowing somewhere unspoken that there was a good chance they never would.

Angela buried her face in Fareeha’s chest, sobs shaking her body, and as Fareeha hugged her tight she found herself crying too. She’d thought she was all out of tears but seeing Angela break down like this tore her to pieces.

“I feel so stupid,” Angela murmured, face still pressed into Fareeha. “You’re here, you’re _here_ and I can’t stop crying – ”

“Hey.” Fareeha put a finger under Angela’s chin and tilted her face up, watery eyes meeting watery eyes, and they both started to smile again at the fact that they were no longer alone. They had each other like they were supposed to. “You can cry all you want. You _can’t_ blame yourself for crying, though.”

“Yes ma’am,” Angela laughed and kissed Fareeha on the cheek. They couldn’t get enough of each other, especially the physical contact, all the little ways they showed each other they were loved and felt they were loved in return. She was still sad, though, and worried, a crease forming between her brows as she cupped Fareeha’s cheek in her hand. “Are _you_ alright? I know you’re worried about me because of the arm and all, but you…you had to see everyone, and…”

Angela gave her body another look, more thorough than the quick once-over she’d instinctively given Fareeha when she’d walked in. “You _look_ okay.” She didn’t need to say it; what she was worried about wasn’t anything physical.

“It was hard,” she admitted. Then, looking at Angela’s face, she relented and was honest, tears slipping down her cheeks. “It felt good, at first, to see them…it felt like home. But I knew it wasn’t real, I would have to leave, and I was betraying them. God, Angela. The looks on their faces…if we get out of this…”

“ _When_ we get out of this,” Angela said firmly. She winced, as if upset at herself for interrupting, but not enough to be completely sorry. She’d said what Fareeha needed to hear.

Fareeha squeezed her hand. “ _When_ we get out of this. Right.” Not that that made it easier; if anything it made it harder, knowing (or believing, because as much as they were feigning confidence for each other they both knew it was false sureness) that she would see them all again, face the consequences of what she’d done…

She swallowed, her voice tight. “I lied to them all, betrayed their trust, and, as if that wasn’t bad enough, Lena, I…I almost ripped out her accelerator. I knew that would scare her, and everyone, more than anything, and I used that against them.”

Angela’s expression changed as Fareeha spoke, but it wasn’t judgment growing on her face, it was empathy. Angela didn’t say anything, just hugged as tight as she could with one arm, rocking slightly. “They’ll forgive you,” she whispered after a few moments. It sounded like a prayer as much as a reassurance to Fareeha. She was trying to convince herself too.

“I hope so,” she murmured.

“No, they will. They’ll understand. You were just protecting me; they’ll understand.”

Fareeha winced, because she wanted to disagree and say that no, their friends would do what the two of them should have, protect Overwatch instead of each other, but she knew that would be a lie. Winston should never have let her or Reaper leave, but the second Lena was in danger, he’d crumbled.

Gabe. Angela didn’t know…it would crush her. But she had to tell her. She exhaled. “Angela, there’s something…it’s worse because, well, Jesse found out before I did, but, I think they think I was helping Reaper willingly because he’s…he’s Gabe. Gabe’s alive, and he’s Reaper.”

She’d prepared herself for shock, for tears, for anger, even, though that was less likely given all of the guilt Angela was wrapped up in with how she thought she’d failed him. Fareeha wasn’t expecting this wry smile, more of a wince really, the sadness in her eyes. Angela wasn’t the least bit surprised.

“I know.”

“…how?”

“He…I kind of, well, called him out on it, snapped on him a little bit because he was being insufferably Gabriel and I just needed to know if it was him.”

“Did you literally just call him out?” She could imagine it all too well, having seen Angela go toe-to-toe with Gabe far too many times to count. It had been even more impressive to young Fareeha given that Angela was a cool, pretty young twenty-something girl taking on a man who was about twice her age and twice her size.

“Yeah. I think I knew before that, though. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself because…”

She didn’t need to say the hundred reasons aloud. Fareeha brushed Angela’s bangs back behind her ear. “I know. Because you didn’t want to come to terms with the fact that Commander Gabriel Reyes is really an overdramatic emo teenager.”

Angela smiled, and Fareeha did too, glad that her attempt to lighten things had worked. “You would know all about that, wouldn’t you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play that game with me, Fareeha, I’m 90% sure teen you was the inspiration for the whole ‘Reaper’ thing.”

Fareeha’s mouth hung open in faux-shock and betrayal. “I _never_ wore a skull mask. Or Bugles on my fingers.”

“False, you were a skeleton for Halloween.”

“Shit.” That was the problem with having known each other for so long; they just had too much dirt.

“And you were angsty, overdramatic…”

“Stop, please, don’t make me relive that.”

“Okay.” Angela’s smile was impish, and she reached up to tap Fareeha on the nose.

It was a cute, very-Angela gesture, but all Fareeha could see was the emptiness at Angela’s right side, the missing arm that Angela insisted was fine but Fareeha knew couldn’t possibly be.

Angela noticed her gaze, and said quietly, “I might get an arm. Sombra mentioned it…I don’t know if I trust them, given that it’s Talon, and their doctors are apparently fools – _I_ could’ve saved my own arm but I guess that’s beyond them – but…”

“You’d really like to not be a one-armed cripple?”

“Shut up.”

Fareeha laughed and kissed Angela on the forehead. “No, I get it. I couldn’t imagine…”

“It sucks. I think…trust isn’t the right word, that would be stupid of me, but I don’t think Sombra would suggest it if it was going to seriously screw me over.”

“Sombra.” Fareeha frowned. “The hacker. The one _no_ body trusts.”

“Well _I_ don’t trust her, but she seems like she wants to help us. In a way that’s entirely self-serving, yes, but she thinks helping us could help her, so I don’t think she’d let anything terrible happen to me.”

“Hm…be careful with that. With her. Promise me, ok? You believe in people too easily.”

“I do not.”

“You definitely do.”

“I know she’s sketchy.”

“Do you really? That’s never stopped you from being a softie before.”

“You’re not wrong,” Angela sighed, “but in this case, yes. She has a literal library of holos of us having sex, that’s weird, that’s sketchy, I don’t trust it.”

“She _what_?”

“Exactly what I said.” Angela looked proud of herself. “When they first…when Gabriel pulled the whole, ‘cooperate or we’ll hurt Fareeha’ thing, I tried to act like we weren’t in love, but Sombra all but bust down the door with her receipts.”

Fareeha raised her eyebrows. “That is…yikes. Oh. Fuck. Gabe was there?”

“Yeah, he…oh. _Oh_. That’s ten times grosser than if it was Reaper the Faceless Terrorist. Disgusting. Thanks, thanks for making me realize that, really appreciate it.” She shook her head, appalled.

“Hey.” Fareeha took her hips and pulled her close. “Just doing my duty.”

“That is absolutely not your duty. He’s like my uncle. It’s weird.” She winced, and Fareeha drew her closer. “I think we hate each other now.”

“I told him he shouldn’t blame you,” Fareeha frowned. “I’ll kick his ass if he made you feel guilty.”

“You know he doesn’t have to make me feel guilty, I do that myself,” Angela murmured. “No, he…that’s what he said. That you told him I didn’t mean to bring him back like that, and regretted it and everything, it’s not about that as much, it’s more…him trying to bring down the organization he built, and attacking us for being a part of new Overwatch, it doesn’t help that his pain is my fault even if I never meant to do that to him, but it’s the rest of it too.”

Fareeha held Angela against her chest. She could imagine how different that conversation had been; though they both had similar reasons to be angry with Gabe, he had nothing against Fareeha. Angela, on the other hand…she had a feeling their conversation hadn’t ended in a hug.

“I’m not sad.” Angela’s voice was muffled. She looked up at Fareeha, mouth quirked down on one side. “I _am_ , obviously, but I’m angry more than anything. At all of it. What he did to us, and to Overwatch, what he’s still doing…we’re getting out of here, and he…he’s got to…”

“Oh he’s not getting away with all this,” Fareeha said with raised eyebrows.

“Definitely not,” Angela laughed, though there was a hard edge to the usually bright sound. “He might be Gabriel, but he can still get his ass kicked. I mean, getting out is obviously the most important thing, but some way or another…he can’t just hurt us. Hurt you.”

Part of her still wanted to defend him, and she hated that, say that he hadn’t actually hurt her, really, but even if the hurt wasn’t physical there was still the terrible emotional pain of being apart, and prisoners, and forced to do things antithetical to who they were as people. And even if he hadn’t been the one to take Angela’s arm, Angela would’ve been able to save it if he hadn’t taken them. Not that Angela, the world champion of putting herself after others, would care as much about that.

“He asked me to join him,” she said quietly.

Angela blinked. “He what?”

“Join Talon.” Fareeha held her breath to see how Angela would respond.

She looked like she wanted to laugh, like she thought the idea was ridiculous, but she could undoubtedly see the uncertainty and gravity in Fareeha’s face, and knew this wasn’t a laughing matter. Angela smiled wryly, rubbing her thumb over Fareeha’s cheek. “He still loves you.”

“Of course he does.”

“That’s one of the only things that’s stopping me from hating him entirely. I know he’s suffered, and some of that has been my fault, but…the fact that he loves you, and is trying to protect you, it’s hard to hate someone who wants the exact same thing I do. He’s just going about it the wrong way.”

“It’s not just because he wants to protect me.” Fareeha bit her lip. Could she destroy Angela’s faith in Overwatch too? To be fair, Angela had never had as much faith as her, had always been skeptical, butting heads with Gabe and Jack and her mother…her mother. Even if their relationship had been strained if not all but fractured towards the end, Angela and her mother had been so close at one point.

It all spilled out at once. “Gabe told me the truth. Jack lied about my mom, Angela. He said she died in the field, that Widowmaker shot and killed her, but she only died because he left her behind enemy lines. He abandoned her and then lied about it. Strike Commander Morrison, posterboy of how good and just and right Overwatch was, and I couldn’t even rely on him to tell the truth.”

“Oh…” Angela’s voice was barely audible. She leaned her forehead back into Fareeha’s chest, and her whisper came brokenly. “I thought she…he lied to me too. He…”

Fareeha kissed the top of her head. Her throat was tight. “I know.”

“So she…all alone…he could’ve been honest. If he had to, if he _had_ to do that, he, he shouldn’t have lied.”

“I know.” It still made a pit in her stomach, thinking about how a man she’d loved and trusted without reservation would put himself, or, more accurately, Overwatch’s image, above being honest with his best friend’s daughter. It was the same thing with Gabe being Reaper; she didn’t want to believe that it could even be possible, but she couldn’t deny the truth of it, the hard reality that Jack, in the midst of scandal and turmoil might omit a single detail, tell a lie that no one would discover, to prevent the destruction of the organization that was still the best hope for protecting the world.

At least in his eyes. In her eyes, too, once. Now she wasn’t so sure. Well. She was sure that Overwatch was better than Talon, as far as protecting the people was concerned, even if now, at this very moment, she wasn’t as much concerned with the world as she was with the woman she was holding in her arms. The amorphous concept of the world faded to the background compared to Angela’s safety.

And that was selfish of her, but she’d already made this choice, when she threw down her launcher, when she grabbed Lena’s accelerator, she would keep making this choice, she knew, no matter how irrational it was. She didn’t have any other option; she had to keep going. She wanted to keep going, couldn’t bear to leave Angela at risk.

So she would do the unthinkable, or the barely thinkable, that was better, it was just enough within the realm of possibility to be believed. Maybe it wouldn’t be believed, completely, but it would be allowed to happen. Angela would be safer, Fareeha would be one step closer to getting them both out of here. She couldn’t think of any other option, other than waiting and hoping that the shellshocked tatters of Overwatch she’d left in Gibraltar would be able to mount a successful rescue mission before the two of them were dead.

Fareeha lifted her head. She spoke to the door, where she knew Gabe was waiting. “Gabe? Can we talk about Talon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get the next chapter up in like 2 weeks instead of a month so there's not a long ass cliffhanger lol it's mostly done we'll see how it goes thanks for reading :)


	14. Chapter 14

Fareeha felt Angela’s hand tighten around her waist, and she made herself meet Angela’s eyes when Angela looked up at her.

“Fareeha, what are you doing?”

“Trust me, _shamsi_ ,” she murmured.

“I do, but what are you doing?” Her brows were knit together, not quite angry, but certainly confused. Fareeha didn’t blame her.

“What I have to.”

“That’s not – ” She stopped when the door opened, turning so she stood next to Fareeha. Her hand was balled into a fist, but Fareeha wrapped her hand around Angela’s, loosening her fist and twining their fingers together so they stood together, united.

Gabe’s arms were crossed when he came in. He looked between them, but his gaze settled on Fareeha. “What about Talon?” He sounded almost hopeful.

She swallowed. “You told me to join Talon. If I said I wanted to…what would that change?”

“You wouldn’t be a prisoner. You might have some say in what you do. I could tell you things I can’t now.”

“Stop. This is ridiculous.” Angela’s brows were knit together and her voice was strong, unwavering **.** Little but fierce. “This is absolutely…just stop.”

“It’s not up to you, Ziegler.”

“Okay, stop.” Fareeha held up her free hand to Gabe, but she looked at Angela too. “It’s not up to either of you. Angela…please trust me. Please.”

“I would if I knew what you were doing.”

“I’m protecting you.” She looked back at Gabe. “That, and, well, I’ve had about enough of Overwatch. So.” Fareeha shrugged.

“Is that a yes?” he asked. “Is this you wanting to join Talon?”

“…yes. Just. You have to let me take care of Angela. Let her be my responsibility; I won’t let anyone else hurt her. And if she messes up, that’s on me, but I want us to be able to be together. Okay? That’s it. That’s my only stipulation.”

“That would have to be cleared with Akande, but…I think it could be arranged.”

“Then…I want to join Talon.” The words were bitter in her mouth. If her mother was here…but she wasn’t. If her mother _had_ still been alive, maybe they wouldn’t be here at all; Captain Ana Amari probably could’ve held Overwatch together with nothing but sheer force of will.

Fareeha could feel Angela tense up beside her. Though Angela had to know this was coming, given the way they were talking, hearing it was surely worse. She didn’t say anything or try to stop it, though her grip on Fareeha’s hand said enough.

Gabe nodded. Despite not being able to see his face, she could tell from the way his posture changed, his back straightening and head lifting, that he was happy with her decision.

 “Come with me, then. Akande’s free now.”

“Akande?”

“There _is_ a little more to becoming a part of Talon than telling me you want to,” Gabe said with a snort. “He’ll just want to talk with you, though. Vet you.”

“Your vetting isn’t enough? He doesn’t trust you?” Angela challenged.

They could feel his glower through the mask.

Angela didn’t back down. Her eyes flicked up to Fareeha’s. “They’re hooking up. Gabriel seems to have a thing for dating his superiors.”

Fareeha blinked. She couldn’t say she was surprised, because even if he was constantly decomposing she was sure Gabe could get it, and it made sense given what he’d said earlier about Akande being the moral center of Talon and the admiring way Gabe had spoken of him, but it was still weird thinking of Gabe and Doomfist, of all people. Just as weird as everything else recently.

“Damn,” she said slowly. “You sure do have a type.”

He exhaled, but she didn’t feel bad about so clearly getting on his nerves. She and Angela together were too powerful to be stopped.

“Come on Fareeha,” he sighed.

“And Angela.”

“…no? He only needs to see you.”

Fareeha squeezed Angela’s hand. “I don’t care. He can see both of us. She’ll just be, uh, emotional support. Hey. Okay. Gabe. We just got to see each other. Don’t split us apart again. Please.” She put some sweetness in her voice at the end; there was no way he could resist her when she really needed something, and she did now. Being apart from Angela again after just being reunited was unimaginable.

He shook his head and she just knew that under his mask he was looking up at the ceiling. He muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “damn lesbians” before saying, “Fine. She better behave.”

“I will if you do.” When Fareeha looked at her with raised eyebrows, Angela sighed. “I’ll try. No guarantees.”

As they followed Gabe out, Angela leaned her head on Fareeha’s arm. “I’m sorry for being difficult, he’s just…I felt terrible for what I did, and I still do, but it’s hard to think about that when what he’s doing now is…” She sighed heavily again. “I don’t want to be angry, but I think if I wasn’t…”

“It’s ok,” Fareeha murmured. “I was angry too.”

“Was?”

“I still am. How could I not be? I just don’t think trying to provoke him or call him out will do anything at this point. You know? He still loves me. That’s stronger than any kind of anger.”

Angela was silent for a few moments, nuzzling into Fareeha as they walked. “I’m sorry,” she whispered finally. “I don’t think I actually said that. I’m sorry it’s Gabriel.”

“Me too.” She snaked her arm around Angela’s waist and held her close. At least she had Angela. “But…as far as us making it through this…I’m glad it’s Gabe. No matter how he’ll say otherwise, he’s soft with me; he makes decisions he shouldn’t.”

“Like letting you join Talon?”

“Exactly that. Even if I might have reasons to…he knows me. He knows who I am, and that I wouldn’t do that, not genuinely. It’s like Winston letting me into the base without debriefing me first, it’s dumb and it’s because he loves me, but it works for us.”

“Maybe you can get Doomfist to fall in love with you too,” Angela smiled. “Just get all of Talon’s leadership on your side.”

“Good strategy. I’ll turn Doomfist into my second dad, and seduce everyone else.” She nodded to herself. “Yeah. As long as you don’t mind, I could definitely manage it. Like…yeah, Sombra’s cute. I could seduce her.”

Angela raised her eyebrows. “Maybe pick an easier target? Sombra’s kind of obsessed with Amélie, she might be a little difficult.”

Fareeha’s grip tightened on Angela’s side, and with effort, she relaxed. She could tell from Angela’s wince that she’d realized her mistake. She kissed the side of Angela’s head. “It’s fine. Gabe already…he mentioned her too, so, it’s fine. He didn’t say they were together.”

“I don’t think they are?” Angela tilted her head to the side. “Well. No. I think they _would_ be, if Amélie wasn’t so afraid of feeling, and even then, they’re definitely closer than if they were just friends. I think it’s pre-dating right now.”

“I thought the whole point of Widowmaker was that she didn’t feel anything…”

“That’s the idea. It’s not working, though. She’s…not quite Amélie, anymore, but she’s not just a thoughtless killer.” She looked at Fareeha apologetically, almost guiltily, and leaned into her side. Her voice was soft when she spoke. “I talked with her. And Sombra, but…Amélie came to me because she had a bullet wound, and it was a lot, um, then she came to me later that night and we went back to her room and talked more. She told me a lot Talon, and her life here. I think she still loves me, a little, but she knows I’m with you now.”

Fareeha struggled with what to say. She wasn’t surprised that Angela had spent time alone with Widowmaker; like she’d told Gabe, she knew their relationship, and even more than that, knew that Angela would want to save her. Unlike Gabe, however, she had nothing but faith in Angela’s ability to not be tempted by her old love.

“We didn’t do anything other than talk,” Angela said quietly. There was that guilty look in her eyes again that just about broke Fareeha’s heart.

“I know,” she said, voice firm and eyes full of love. “I know you love her, but I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. I trust you.”

Angela’s relief was palpable. Fareeha laughed slightly. “What, did you think I was going to be mad at you for talking to someone you care about?”

“What? No. I know you wouldn’t be _mad_ , that’s not who you are.”

“But you still worried about how I’d feel,” Fareeha smiled. “That’s gay.”

“We’re here,” Gabe said.

As they followed him through the door, Angela murmured, “This is where his team lives. I was here last night, with Amélie. And him and Sombra. And Doomfist walked in at the end.” She added on the last part as an afterthought, quizzically; neither of them were quite comfortable with him given his relation to Gabe. And given many other factors, but everyone here was a terrorist with a hand in their capture, not everyone here was hooking up with Gabe.

“Akande, can you do something for me? Should be quick.”

They walked in behind Gabe to see Doomfist, shirtless, of course, because Fareeha couldn’t think of a time she’d seen him on TV _with_ a shirt, sitting at the kitchen table reading. He looked up at them with a frown.

“Fareeha wants to join Talon,” Gabe explained.

“Ah,” Doomfist nodded. He didn’t seem surprised, like he’d been expecting this, and that made Fareeha more than a little uncomfortable. He looked at Angela. “I don’t suppose you want to join Talon too?”

She snorted. “Oh absolutely not. I will continue to do the bare minimum necessary to stay alive.”

He again was unsurprised. “Then why are you here?” The question was for both Angela and Gabe, but Fareeha answered.

“Because I want her to be. Because we’re not going to let you split us apart again.”

Doomfist lifted his eyebrows. “Not going to _let_ me?”

“No.”

“Hm. Nice to meet you, Fareeha. You’re as brave as I’ve heard.”

She wasn’t expecting a polite greeting from him, much less a compliment. “Who’s been talking me up, Gabe?”

“Yes, but your mission report speaks for itself. You do what’s needed, even when it’s difficult.”

“I was a soldier. It’s what we do.”

“Good.” Doomfist stood. “I expect you joining Talon is more of that, then. You’re doing it to protect yourself, and Dr. Ziegler, not out of any real belief or commitment.”

Fareeha crossed her arms. “I’m obviously trying to take care of Angela, but Overwatch killed my mother. So. I wouldn’t say I completely lack belief or commitment. And even if I did, I’m not sure Gabe is any true believer, no matter what he says, I know Sombra’s here for herself, and Widowmaker didn’t really have a choice in the matter, so it’s not like your team is full of people who leave and breathe Talon ideals. It mostly seems like people using Talon for their own ends.”

Angela squeezed her hand, and Fareeha knew she had said the right thing. There was no point in shying away from the truth when it was so obvious.

Doomfist maintained his detached, if slightly curious, expression. His cool professionalism was a change from both Gabe and the persona he took on as Reaper; Gabe had never been able to hide the fact that he cared too much. He smiled, suddenly, and while it wasn’t directly menacing it certainly wasn’t comforting. “Good points. Of course, it will take some time before we can fully trust you with sensitive missions or information, but I believe you deserve a chance to prove yourself.”

“Because almost ripping my friend out of existence doesn’t count as proving myself,” she said dryly.

“It’s a start.” He looked towards Gabe. “Was there anything else?”

“Yes,” Gabe sighed. “She wants responsibility for Angela. She wants them to stay together from now on.”

“It’s a deal-breaker.” Fareeha crossed her arms. She could see Angela from the corner of her eye, and almost laughed at the way Angela tried to shift her posture to approximate the same physical mood as crossing her arms.

Doomfist considered them both, his smile now bemused. “Are you expecting her to come on missions with you?”

“No,” Angela responded. “How useful is a one-armed medic going to be? We just want to have a room together, and to not be kept apart. That’s all.”

He frowned and looked at Gabe. “Does she not know?”

“…no.”

“I’ll tell her to come, then.” Doomfist sent a message on holo, ignoring Gabe’s audible grimace. He slipped it back in his pocket and looked up at them. “I have to go. I trust you can handle this, Gabriel?”

“Yes.” He didn’t sound nearly as confident as he normally did.

As soon as Doomfist left, Fareeha asked Gabe, “Who’s coming?”

He groaned and rubbed his hand back over his head. “I’ll just let you find out when she gets here.”

“That’s not very helpful.”

“You, well, _she_ – ” he pointed to Angela, “will be angry and I’d rather only have to deal with it once.”

“You act like I haven’t been pissed recently,” Angela said dryly.

Fareeha snorted. “She has a point, Gabe.”

“Oh now _this_ is interesting.” Fareeha recognized the voice immediately, even though it had been a while and she’d heard it rarely to begin with. Moira was here.


	15. Chapter 15

Angela felt Fareeha grab her hand as soon as they heard that voice. It was a good thing she did, because Angela’s gut reaction was to start swinging. They turned together to face the door, Fareeha positioning herself in between them, protective.

That smarmy look on Moira’s face still made Angela’s blood boil, even after all this time. She’d known Moira was with Talon, the same vague way she’d known Amélie was, but actually seeing her was something different and worse. Everything she held in her mind as hating about Moira was infinitely worse when seen in the flesh.

She nudged Fareeha out of the way so she could look Moira in her squinty little eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped.

“I work here.”

“No, what are you doing anywhere near me?”

“Akande invited me here. I thought I could help with your little…” Moira’s eyes lingered on Angela’s armless right side, “predicament.”

“She’s fine without your help.” Fareeha’s voice didn’t carry the vitriol of Angela’s, but it was just as hard. Angela squeezed her hand in thanks.

“Yes, especially since I’m guessing it was _your_ idiotic decision to amputate my arm for no reason.”

“Oh there was a reason.” The slight smile on her lips was in no way reassuring. If anything, it made Angela certain that whatever reason Moira had wasn’t a good one.

“And was it a reason that made sense? Or was it like the reason you turned into an ‘amoral geneticist?’” Angela spat the last phrase, which Moira loved to refer to herself as but to anyone else screamed “I don’t actually care about human life, just exploiting it.”

“I don’t do anything that doesn’t make sense.”

Angela scoffed. “You’re still trying to defend yourself? You got a few bad reviews and some negative press. Nothing that the rest of us didn’t have to deal with, only we didn’t act like victims and throw all ethics out the window. That’s something a child would do, oh some people were mean to me, I better be mean to _every_ one now.”

“Cut it out,” Gabriel sighed.

“Thank you for defending my honor, Gabriel,” Moira said, her voice oozing with fake sweetness.

Angela turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. “Really?” She didn’t need to elaborate. Moira, even with Blackwatch, even before she had lost what little remained of her moral compass, had been more tolerated by her coworkers than liked. Angela had found that out around when she’d found out that Moira even worked for Blackwatch; Gabriel had defended his choice, but he had never claimed to like Moira. Given the way he had reacted to Doomfist mentioning her and her coming into the room, she didn’t think that had changed.

He shrugged, but it was tired, nothing like the animated gesture accompanied by a shit-eating grin she remembered. Moira exhausted him. Maybe it was a little petty of her, but Angela was glad to not be the person he disliked most in the room. Even if they were still mad at each other, she still in some way needed if not his affection, his approval. She’d always needed that from authority figures, and doubly from Gabriel given that he was like a father to Fareeha.

“I can’t defend what you don’t have. I just want you done here so you can leave.”

“What did you come here for?” Fareeha asked. She was making a conscious effort to be the reasonable one here, and for that Angela was grateful. Fareeha was the only one here without a tangled, complicated relationship with Moira; it wasn’t like they’d ever had any reason to interact more than happening to run into each other or walking by in the hallways. Moira wouldn’t exactly have been Ana’s top choice for childcare.

Moira lifted the case she had been holding at her side, but all Angela could focus on was her long, jagged nails. That was a sure sign that Moira must be as disliked here as she had been in Blackwatch, if not more. She knew Amélie and she’d seen Sombra’s manicure; there was no way they’d let someone they actually liked walk around with nails like that.

“I came to help Angela.”

She couldn’t help but shudder at her name in Moira’s mouth, the last place it belonged. The only interaction she really wanted to have with Moira at this point was if the woman stood in silence while Angela yelled at her, then they both left never to see each other again. A girl could dream.

“I can put her in a coma if you’d like,” Fareeha offered, a pleasant aside meant mostly for Angela, but still loud enough for Moira and Gabriel to hear. Moira’s lips pursed but she otherwise didn’t react, until Gabriel snorted under his breath and she turned to look at him with glinting eyes. He didn’t dignify her with a response.

“I’ll pass, for now. Thank you though.” She kissed Fareeha on the cheek.

“If you’re finished…”

Angela rolled her eyes. “What is it? How are you going to try to fix the mistake _you_ made?”

Moira sat the case on the table and opened it. “Like this.”

It was a prosthetic arm, but… “You incorporated elements from my staff,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. She ran her hand over it, noting the differences, how the prosthetic was certainly not as advanced as the current version of her staff, but all the basic parts were there, and more. The outer tubing reminded her of Moira’s mods, as did the output on the palm.

She looked up at Moira. “Can you walk me through the specifics?” The anger had left her voice, if only temporarily; for now she was just a scientist looking for an explanation.

“Your observation was correct; we did use the nanite technology from your staff. However, adapting that to prosthetic form proved challenging, so we filled in the gaps with some of my own work.”

“I might be able to make it work,” she mused, “but given what you had, and that you’re not me, yes, I could see the difficulty. Is it healing only, or did you include the nanitic boosting component? Or…is it more like you, biotic grasp and orbs and self-healing only through orbs?”

A smile touched Moira’s lips, like no matter how much they loathed each other now, she was glad to be talking with someone who spoke her language and was as smart as her. Angela knew that was what she was thinking, because Moira had never kept her disdain for others a secret, or that she thought Angela was one of the few people she could have an intelligent conversation with. Angela hated that. Perhaps they were the experts in their specific fields, but to imply that everyone else they worked with were foolish idiots because they were not also experts in that field was infuriatingly narrow-minded. People like Gabriel, Ana, and Jack were anything but idiots. Moira was just an elitist asshole.

“For now, healing. We’re working on the other three components.”

“And self-healing?” If it was her staff, no question, she could turn it back on herself. But if that aspect was taken from Moira’s tech rather than her own…

“No.” Her smile was thin and sharp. She didn’t need to explain any further; the subtext was abundantly clear to Angela. They might give her the ability to heal Talon operatives, but heal herself? Absolutely not. They needed her tied to them, to be forced to return if she was injured.

“Does this mean Angela will be going on missions?” Fareeha asked, looking at Gabriel. “I don’t see much point in adding a healing component to her arm if she isn’t going to heal anyone.”

“Akande and I are discussing it; it’s not off the table. I’d placed bets on Angela refusing to even use the prosthetic on principle, so, we wanted to see what happened with this before making any decisions.”

She snorted. “Gabriel. Please. You can bet I’ll be looking at this in _much_ more detail before I let her attach it to my body, but I’m not so blinded by my hatred for her that I would say no to having two arms again. It’s not like I have much of a choice here.”

“If we’re done here…” Moira trailed off, that disgusting smile growing on her face.

Angela and Fareeha both followed Moira’s gaze to their right, and though what they saw wasn’t completely unexpected, Angela was still surprised.

Sombra and Amélie, both sleepy eyed and in pajamas, hanging off each other and yawning. Their ruffled hair, the obvious marks on their skin, and the way Amélie had her arm draped over Sombra’s shoulder, their fingers intertwined, made it glaringly obvious what had been going on down the hall.

Their reactions were immediate. Sombra’s smile twisted into something of a snarl, hard and combative, and her grip on Amélie’s hand and around her waist only grew tighter. Amélie, on the other hand, seemed less sure of how to react. Angela might not have known Widowmaker, but she knew those subtle Amélie tics – the lift of her chin, putting on an air of uncaring bravery, the way the softness in her eyes when she had only been looking at Sombra was replaced by a flash of fear, then distance, haughty. She was afraid or uncomfortable, probably both, but she wasn’t going to let that show.

Fareeha took her hand and held it tight. She didn’t speak; what was there to say that Angela didn’t already know? This was the first time Fareeha had seen the woman who’d shot her mother in person.

“I’ll keep her away from you,” Angela whispered. She didn’t think that would be hard. Amélie did not seem anywhere close to being able to apologize for the people she’d killed, let alone even wanting to apologize, nor was she the type to needlessly provoke conflict. If Amélie did feel any guilt now, actually seeing Fareeha, which in of itself would be a stretch, the odds of her saying anything were almost nonexistent. Emotional repression was something Amélie excelled at.

“Thanks. I don’t really want to hurt her, but…” she exhaled, “I’m a long, _long_ way from wanting to talk to her.”

“Why are you in our kitchen?” Sombra asked, serious for the first time since Angela had met her, a current of contained rage running beneath her words.

“You should leave.” It was unclear who Gabriel, exhausted and tense, was talking to, all of them or any of them would work, it seemed. This particular mix of people was about two seconds from some kind of explosion.

He went ignored.

“I’m helping Angela,” Moira responded all sickly-sweet.

“You _were_ helping me, you’re done now.”

Moira arched her brows. “I had no idea you felt so fondly of Sombra that you would take her side over mine. Miss Lacroix, on the other hand…”

For all her posturing about how intelligent she was, Moira was exceptional at stating the obvious and making it seem like it was some subtle, nuanced taunt. Angela merely snorted. It wasn’t half clever enough to justify a response.

Fareeha stepped in between them. “We can come to your lab to talk more about this later, if you’d like.”

Moira thought for a moment, then nodded. “That would be acceptable. Just bring Widowmaker with you.”

“ _Um_ – ” Sombra didn’t have a chance to articulate the incredulous look on her face before Moira swept out the door. She turned to Amélie, mouth open ready to speak, but was stopped again, this time by Amélie’s finger on her lips.

“Try not to be so defensive and angry. You’re just giving her what she wants.”

Fareeha tilted her head in agreement and looked down at Angela with a slight smile on her lips. “I think you could take that advice too.” Her eyes flicked over to Amélie’s, and the two of them briefly shared some small understanding.

“I know,” Angela sighed. “I just haven’t seen her in so many years, and she’s somehow even more infuriating…but, Sombra, why are _you_ so angry? I didn’t know you took things this seriously.”

Sombra flipped her hair and attempted to recapture her usual careless attitude, but it was only partially successful. The blasé smile on her face didn’t cancel out the tension in her body. “I just hate her racist ass and don’t want to see her where I live. Do I need any more reason to be pissed?”

“No, but you have one.” She looked to Amélie, who Sombra was holding so protectively, whose calm was a little too meticulously maintained to be natural. “Has she hurt you? Did she...oh _god_.” The realization hit her and she leaned into Fareeha for support. “Did she do this to you?”

Fareeha put her arm around her shoulder, warm.

Amélie gave a tiny nod. “Yes. Don’t start crying, though. I don’t want that. I don’t want to talk about it, or her, either; I’m fine.”

Angela seriously doubted that she was “fine,” but she wasn’t about to push it. Sombra’s glare alone certainly would’ve stopped her if she’d even been considering asking more questions.

“Has she hurt you, Gabe?” Fareeha asked suddenly.

Their gazes all turned to him. He was quiet, which was an answer in of itself. Angela was expecting him to talk of unethical experiments, just following Moira’s pattern of ignoring basic scientific decency, but what he said was a little different. “She’s been trying to help me, actually.”

“What?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Ziegler,” he said with a quiet laugh. “It’s entirely self-serving helping. And it hasn’t worked much either, but she makes small advancements every now and then, or, she _tells_ me about her small advancements every now and then, so, I go back.”

“She’s keeping you tied to her,” Angela said with a twisted mouth. “Sounds about right. Can’t risk losing a valuable test subject. You know I was serious about helping you, right? Whatever else you’ve done that I disagree with, this at least is my fault, and I’ll work to fix it.”

“Can you?”

She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. But I know more about nanites than Moira, I don’t have any ulterior motives unlike her, and…I still love you, Gabriel, despite everything. That’s a powerful enough thing on its own.”

“We’ll see.” He seemed uncomfortable with this line of conversation, and if she had to guess, she’d say it was because he was scared to hope. He didn’t want to start thinking of a future where he wasn’t like this in case he never got it. “Moira might have other projects for you to work on.”

“More like she might not want Mercy sticking her nose in on her research,” Sombra snorted.

“Is Moira in charge of you?” Fareeha asked, a little incredulously.

“No, but she is in charge of our science and research division.” He didn’t sound too pleased about that.

“Do _any_ of you like her?” They hadn’t shown anything but animosity towards Moira.

The three Talon agents traded glances. Amélie was the one who spoke for them. “Not particularly, no, but she’s good at what she does.”

“Uh huh. She’s not that good. Really. Speaking as someone who knows, it wouldn’t be that hard to find someone at or above Moira’s level who’s not Moira.”

“She’s the one who will work with us,” Gabriel shrugged.

“Yeah because turning Amélie into…uh, sorry. Thinking about that makes me want to punch her even more; I didn’t think that was possible, but here we are.”

“No punching allowed. Widow has dibs on her.”

Angela looked between the three of them, and she saw the same incredulity on Fareeha’s face. “Are you saying you all have some kind of plan to take her out?”

“Maybe,” Amélie said evenly.

“Can I get in on that on Angela’s behalf?” Fareeha asked. “Since I’m part of Talon now?”

“Yeah, Fareeha joined Talon, Akande approved it,” Gabriel said with a wave of his hand.

Sombra and Amélie actually looked impressed. Well, Amélie looked impressed for the second before her gaze skidded towards Fareeha’s then away, her mouth tightening, less like she was angry and more like she didn’t know how to feel, and had been able to mostly ignore Fareeha up until now and would’ve been happy to keep ignoring her.

She felt Fareeha tense at her side, but quick on her feet, Sombra easily diffused the tension.

“Welcome to the team,” she grinned. “Did that literally just happen?”

“Yeah.” Fareeha said. “Doomfist was just here, but he left before Moira came. Said he had somewhere to be, but…”

“He’s too smart to be in a room with the three of us and her,” Gabriel said, his affection showing through. Angela didn’t know if she would call what Gabriel and Akande had love – she hadn’t seen them together enough to know for sure – Gabriel certainly cared for him, had that admiring softness in voice that Angela got so often in hers when talking about Fareeha.

“Does he like her?” Angela asked. “He seemed more professional when he was talking about her. Like he didn’t care either way.”

“Do you know anyone that actually likes her?” Gabriel didn’t need to ask; they all knew the answer. “He’s just polite. He knows Talon needs her, so he doesn’t antagonize her.”

“Unlike the rest of us,” Sombra snorted. “But it’s in the job description I guess.”

“His job is to make you three behave?” Fareeha said with a smile. “He’ll have to add me to that list.”

“That’s not his job –”

“Sombra, it’s _every_ one’s job to make you behave,” Amélie interrupted primly. She still avoided making eye contact with Fareeha. Apparently their quick moment of understanding had been just that, brief and momentary, likely a thoughtless reaction for both of them, instinctually seeking and finding understanding from each other.

Angela wanted them to stop avoiding the tension between them; they weren’t even skating around it at this point, they were sprinting away from it. It had to happen at some point, especially if Fareeha was going to be with Talon now, and if they were both going to be here for the foreseeable future. But as much as part of her longed to make these two women she loved so much and so differently work out their repressed emotions, she knew it wasn’t her place. They needed to do it when they were both ready. Angela just didn’t know how long that would take.

“Well, we can just let miss Fareeha handle that from now on.” Sombra winked at her. “She’s cuter than Akande.”

“Cuter than me?” Amélie smiled without thinking. Her smile twitched slightly, as soon as she realized what she’d said and who she’d been speaking in front of, but she lifted her head and looked at them, like she was daring them to say something.

Angela knew then without a doubt that it was love between Sombra and Amélie. Up until now, she hadn’t seen them truly be together; even last night, there had been a combative air to the room, what with Sombra’s barely-repressed jealousy and the tension between herself and Gabriel, but now… Their ease and comfort with each other was so obvious it hurt. Amélie’s moment of playfulness was the happiest Angela had seen her.

“Never cuter than you.” Sombra brushed right past it like it was nothing. It probably was, to her, even to Gabriel, who hadn’t reacted at all. Was this how they normally were with each other? The more time she spent with them the more she was amazed she was. “But prettier than Akande, I think everyone here but Gabriel can agree on that.”

“No, I agree, definitely prettier than him.”

“Well there we go. So are you moving in with us now?” Sombra looked between Gabriel and Fareeha, not sure which of them would know the answer.

They looked at each other. “It would make sense,” Gabriel said. “I don’t see why not.”

“And Angela too, right?”

“…right.”

She and Fareeha shared blazing smiles. Sharing a room again, a bed, being close to each other? They couldn’t imagine anything better.

“That sounds wonderful,” Angela sighed. She looked at Gabriel and offered a small smile, a peace offering. There was still a discomfort between them, too many wounds that hadn’t yet been mended, but with Fareeha here as someone they both loved to bring them together, and Moira doing the same as someone they hated, it was easier to start letting go of the tension. “Thank you, Gabriel.”

“Don’t thank me; I’m not giving you any special treatment.”

Fareeha laughed outright at that and Angela couldn’t help but smile too. Gabriel had done nothing _but_ give them, especially Fareeha but truthfully both of them, special treatment. How could he do anything else?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to @sombrashair for the Moira nails as a symbol of Widow/Sombra hating her bit, a truly iconic headcanon  
> I can't seem to stay in the country for more than a few months at a time rip I won't have good WiFi access again until the last week or two of June, so there will be another month-ish gap between chapters. Thanks so much for sticking with me and my lack of Internet!


	16. Chapter 16

“This probably won’t work,” Angela repeated for the hundredth time that morning. She’d said it multiple times during the briefing, one the transport here, and now, finally, standing at the long-abandoned watchpoint with Fareeha and Gabriel beside her and Amélie somewhere watching over them, she felt obligated to say it one last time.

But it might work. That was the thing. Even though Winston had undoubtedly made sure Fareeha was now unable to access Overwatch bases, and had likely included Angela too, she doubted they’d been able or even remembered to clear Angela’s special-access codes. But it was only a matter of time, once the panic of them being captured and what had subsequently happened in Gibraltar a week ago faded a little, until they did a more thorough security review.

So she was here, and not only would she get them in, she would get Moira the research she wanted, the exacting list of files and documents that Moira insisted she couldn’t trust anyone else to retrieve. Angela was confident any of the three people with her were fully capable of reading a list even if that list included terms they weren’t familiar with, but Moira thought they were all basically idiots so that was how she treated them.

If Angela had to guess, she’d say a third reason for her being here was to further test her arm. Over the past week, she’d been with Moira in the med bay, trying out the prosthetic’s healing abilities on wounded soldiers – certainly not Angela’s idea of ethical quality testing, but Moira had promised to use those she didn’t attempt to heal in her own experiments.

One of Moira’s only semi-decent personality traits was that she kept her promises, which meant they now knew that Angela could heal wounds of almost any severity, but that her nanite reserves were limited. Despite having the blueprints to Angela’s staff, Moira hadn’t yet been able to practically replicate the nanite-generating mechanism, which still gave Angela a smug satisfaction thinking about it. Of course, it also meant that her ability to heal her – friends, she almost called them, but settled on team. It more detached, even though she was anything but.

If all went according to plan, though, she wouldn’t even need to use her arm, which would be good, because it still didn’t feel like her arm yet. She didn’t know if it ever would, given that Moira had made it and was the reason she needed it in the first place. Angela could use it just fine, the fingers worked as she wanted them to and she had the hang of turning the healing stream on and off, but it didn’t feel like _hers_. She’d have to talk to Genji about that feeling, assuming she ever saw him again.

Angela didn’t let herself go down that morose train of thought. She was here to do a job, simple as that. And it should be simple; unlike Fareeha’s mission with Gabriel to a base they’d known had been full of Overwatch agents, there was no reason for anyone but them to be here. Hell, Angela herself hadn’t been here since before Overwatch had been originally disbanded. That was dangerous thinking, given that she could count on one hand the number of missions that had gone according to plan, but at least she and Fareeha could watch each other’s backs.

And Amélie and Gabriel, too. She would look out for both of them no matter how complicated her feelings might be, and she was fairly sure they’d do the same for her.

She felt Fareeha thread their fingers together, Fareeha’s thick and hard because of the armor but no less comforting. “I’m with you.” Her voice was firm.

“I’m glad. I don’t think I could do this without you.”

“No, you’d manage,” Fareeha smiled. “In fact, maybe I should just leave, let you handle things.”

“Don’t you _dare_.” Angela squeezed her hand and pulled it closer. “You’re not leaving me alone with them.”

“We’re right here,” Gabriel growled from behind her. Maybe she was imagining it, but she thought she heard a softness behind his words, the kind that really only emerged around Fareeha.

She looked at Fareeha. “See? Insufferable. I’d be dying if you weren’t here.”

“We can still arrange for that to happen.”

“Gabriel, your threats are hardly threatening anymore. Moira would skin you alive if anything happened to me.”

“She’s the one who wanted you to come today; field missions always carry a certain amount of risk.”

“ _I’ll_ skin you alive if anything happens to her,” Fareeha sniffed. “That skinny racist is the least of your problems.”

“We came here for a reason, not to chat.” It was the first time Amélie had spoken since getting on the transport, her voice bored. However she might act around them at the base, it seemed that here, in her skin-tight catsuit toting her rifle, she was nothing but business, as uncaring as she was supposed to be all the time. Maybe she just wanted to get this over with so she could get back and see Sombra, who had been away on a mission of her own since two days ago.

Either way, her words effectively got them back on track.

Angela went through the basic access code, thumbprint, and retinal scan, then added her secondary code that overrode any internal restrictions that might occur because of a lockdown or crisis. Being Head of Medical Research had its perks, most of which came from the assumption that if she needed into a building during a crisis, it was absolutely necessary to help people.

It worked. The door opened.

“Head to central command,” Gabriel ordered.

“Why not the research wing?” Angela asked. She wasn’t trying to be contrary, she just figured that would be the easiest place to get research.

“I’m getting a few extra things, and it’s more open.” He nodded his head towards Amélie and Fareeha. “Easier for them to do their job.”

Fair point. Although… “Did you not get enough when you went to Gibraltar? Fareeha said you snooping through Jack’s files was what got you found out.”

He fixed her with a stare she could feel through his mask. She wondered how long it had taken him to perfect that particular skill. “That’s not your concern.”

“But it _is_ mine,” Fareeha said lightly. She gave him a pleasant smile. “Remember? You said if I was Talon I could know things like that.”

“Ask me after the mission.” His words were final, but Angela could see that Fareeha was ready to keep fighting him.

“He’s not going to say anything now,” she murmured to Fareeha. “We should just finish this quickly, then you can ask him after.”

“Hm…alright. Let’s go, then.”

Angela gripped Fareeha’s hand as they walked through the dusty, dark base. This was what Gibraltar had been like when they’d first answered Winston’s call, all lonely and clearly uninhabited, and it hadn’t been something she enjoyed. Though she’d lived in Switzerland, she’d spent plenty of time travelling to other bases for missions, to set up labs, assist others’ research…she didn’t like seeing these once-bustling buildings so empty. They were just another unwanted and unneeded reminder of how much things had changed.

They walked into the command room, but they weren’t alone. An instantly recognizable figure with a bright red 76 sprawled across his back was hunched at a computer. He turned around and they all froze, all except Amélie who grappled to the upper level and disappeared into the shadows.

Jack had a mask too, but unlike Gabriel, he hadn’t mastered being able to send looks through it. Angela had no idea what he was thinking under there.

“Angela? Fareeha?” Like Gabriel, the years hadn’t been kind to Jack, his voice now rough and hard. But she could hear her old friend underneath it all, the hurt and the shock that she knew were less at seeing them here and more at seeing her and Fareeha in the company of Talon.

“Do I take the shot?” Amélie spoke over their com, a calm murmur. It was disconcerting, being with her while she was truly Widowmaker, hearing how easily she was prepared to take a life. And Jack wasn’t even a stranger; he’d been Amélie’s friend, once.

“No, _don’t._ ” The fierceness in Angela’s voice as she stepped forward surprised even her. She’d loved Jack, true, but any time he’d come up in a conversation the last few years she’d only cursed him and his Soldier: 76 persona. Now she was between him and Amélie’s gun, a physical barrier to accompany her words.

She swallowed. “Do _not_ hurt him. That means you too, Gabriel.” She realized too late that maybe Jack didn’t know who Reaper was, but if his non-reaction was any indication this wasn’t news to him.

Tears shone in her eyes as she looked at Jack. “You’re alive too.” It wasn’t a question; unlike Gabriel, who she’d believed dead all this time, she’d known Jack was alive before seeing him here and now. She’d known, and yet it hardly felt any better than Gabriel. The punch in the gut feeling of seeing a friend you’d mourned standing in front of you wasn’t something she’d ever imagined herself experiencing once, let alone twice.

“Yes. And you’re…” He looked between her and Fareeha. “We didn’t know…”

“We?”

He twitched like he’d made a mistake, but what he said didn’t sound like a lie. “Overwatch. That we.”

“You don’t get to say that anymore,” Fareeha said shortly. “You lost that right a long time ago.”

“Are you working with them now?” Angela was hopeful despite herself. Maybe Jack had reached out in the weeks since they’d been taken, started some sort of reconciliation…most of them had the same feelings of betrayal and anger as Fareeha and herself, but the minute Jack wanted a beer and hug Reinhardt would give it to him. She wondered if Jack knew that.

“No.” And there it went, that hope she shouldn’t have entertained even so briefly. Jack taking responsibility for his actions and working towards mending the harm he’d caused? Not likely. That was maybe a little harsh. Well, harsh for Commander Morrison; completely in-character for Soldier: 76.

“You should just leave,” Fareeha said, voice thick but firm. Angela looked back and saw that her face was hard. They were all so hard, couldn’t let the emotion that was cracking their exteriors well up and pour out. Where would that leave them except in pain?

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not? It’ll be easier.”

“I can’t let him leave.” Gabriel spoke up, finally.

“Why?” Angela repeated. She gave Jack a look that bordered on disgusted. “Just follow the train of vigilante murders; it won’t be hard to find him again.”

“He didn’t tell you? He tried to murder me and – some…other people I was working with. I don’t know how his boss would take it if he came back empty-handed twice. They might think he still cared about me.”

Angela was surprised at the protectiveness she felt towards Gabriel. Not that he needed protecting, or that she would take his side if it came down to a fistfight between the two men, but she could’ve told Jack about Gabriel and Akande, or rounded on Gabriel for the attempted murder, and she didn’t.

“No one’s getting murdered today.” Fareeha crossed her arms. “Gabe, you can blame me for him getting away. I don’t care.”

“So what, you’re both taking his side?” There was a hint of a snarl behind his words, an animal backing up into a corner, getting defensive.

“Do you think this is about sides?” Angela shook her head. “I’m not on either of your sides. You’ve both made terrible decisions that have hurt the people you claim to love. I just don’t want to see anyone else get hurt, and if we stay here, someone will.”

“Sometimes people need to get hurt,” Jack said darkly, a shadow of the man she’d known.

Angela told him as much. “Who the hell _are_ you? Really, Jack. I would expect that from Gabriel, but you always found the way to do your job that hurt the fewest people.”

“And how did that work out for me? For any of us?”

She was surprised at how much he sounded like Gabriel, but she shouldn’t have been. They had both frequently expressed their frustrations with how ineffective Overwatch could be; Gabriel had acted on that frustration via Blackwatch, but Jack? Public figurehead, always in the light? Aside from rare moments like the uprising in London, he was stuck sitting on his hands, unable to act.

And he was right. They were both right. Overwatch hadn’t always worked, and she herself had been a frequent critic of it, but it had most certainly been better than a terrorist organization or solo vigilante justice.

“You sound just like Gabriel. You both try to justify yourselves by saying you’re improving on Overwatch, you’re helping people like it never could, but honestly? I don’t think either of you actually care about helping people anymore. All you’re doing is trying to make yourselves feel like heroes. You’re not. Neither of you are.”

Jack stared right back at her. “Neither are you.”

There it was. The same thing she’d been hearing since the first time she donned her Valkyrie suit. For some reason, everyone was completely willing to accept that a scientist and doctor working in the lab was doing it to help people, or at the very least for the sake of science, not out of any desire to be or be seen as a hero. But the moment that same person went into the field, well, she became a self-centered, glory-seeking martyr.

Of course she loved saving lives, which had a very different sort of high when she was actually out there in the heat of conflict rather than in the med bay, and of course that feeling of having saved of a life, of doing what she couldn’t for her parents and for so many others, filled her with pride and joy. She didn’t claim that her motives for healing were entirely pure. Everyone was a little selfish. But few people, it seemed, could handle that hint of moral complexity.

“I know that,” she said evenly. “And I know that you’re better than what you’ve become. I still…I still love you. Both of you. I know you can’t be the people you were, but I don’t think it would be that hard for you to cut this murder bullshit and be good people again, the men everyone believed in. That _I_ believed in.”

“Those men never existed,” Gabriel said behind her. “They’re as real as Mercy.”

“I don’t buy that!” Angela was exasperated and sad. They weren’t like Amélie. Were they really going to stand here and act like everything they had experienced together didn’t matter? “I’m not some random citizen who only saw you on posters and in holos. I knew you.”

“Did you?”

“Yes Jack. We did.” Fareeha’s voice was thick, and Angela was reminded how different all of this was to them. Angela was talking to friends. Fareeha was talking to fathers. It hurt both of them in different ways. “How could you even say otherwise?”

Fareeha drew in a shuddery breath, gathering her strength to speak. “You two are the closest thing to my mother I have left. What would she say if she heard you talking like this? If she was here to see what you’ve become?”

They were silent. What was there to say to the daughter of their dead best friend, who was their daughter in all but blood?

Angela squeezed her hand, wishing she could wrap Fareeha in her arms and tell her it was alright to cry and scream and whatever else she wanted or needed to do. But no. They were stuck here. Angela had half a mind to say screw it and let Jack and Gabriel fight it out; their spats had always exhausted her, unlike Ana, who somehow managed to stay friends with both of their bickering asses without exploding.

When Jack finally spoke, his words were heavy, like he didn’t want to say them but felt he had no choice. Angela wished he would keep his damn mouth shut for once. “And what would she say if she saw what _you’ve_ become?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! I'm still abroad so the next update might also be a little bit long, but hopefully not as long as this one :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting :)

“And what would she say if she saw what _you’ve_ become?”

Fareeha didn’t have to ask what he meant. She’d wondered how long it would take him to bring up the subject that had been so carefully avoided. But he and Angela, and even Gabe for a moment, had gone down their own spiral of accusations and anger, and for the most part, she had been more than happy to let them. It was just delaying the inevitable moment she’d have to explain to Jack why she was here without all but forcing Gabe to remove her from her new position at Talon.

She didn’t want to think about what she would say or do if her mother was here with them. It was already hard enough to look at Jack’s visor and imagine the disappointment underneath, and to have seen the pain on Gabe’s rotting face. Her mother? Who, if she was alive, certainly wouldn’t be wearing a mask and dispensing violent “justice” as she saw fit? Even considering her reaction to seeing her only daughter a part of Talon killed Fareeha.

“My mother is dead,” Fareeha said heavily. “If she was alive, none of us would be where we are right now. I’m certain of that.”

“And you’re where, exactly? A member of Talon? You and Angela both?” For a moment, she heard a waver in his voice. Jack didn’t want to believe this was true any more than Fareeha herself did. “Tell me how I’m wrong.”

“Angela isn’t a part of Talon.”

“And you?”

She looked back at Gabe, felt Angela’s grip on her hand, then lifted her head. “I am.”

It hurt to say, even more than the first time, because at least then, it had been Gabe, who was cautiously happy to hear it, and the rest were Talon members whose opinions didn’t matter to her. Jack’s still mattered. She hadn’t been lying when she said that he and Gabe were the closest things she had left to her mom, and while she doubted her mom would share either of their perspectives nowadays, Jack was quite a bit closer to the straight and narrow than Gabe. It was no question that she loved Gabe more, but if she was thinking about similarity to her mom? Jack was the current winner.

“How long?”

“A week.” She narrowed her eyes. “Did you…are you really checking to make sure I haven’t been some kind of, of Talon mole this whole time?”

“It wouldn’t be unheard of.” He looked at Gabe as he said that.

“He wasn’t a mole, and neither was I,” Fareeha said flatly.

Gabe apparently didn’t care enough to defend himself. “Give that a rest, Fareeha. He won’t change his mind, not that I care what he thinks.”

“So Talon did actually capture you both.”

“Yes, Jack!”

“Why would we fake that?” Angela added, disgusted.

“I don’t know, why would you work with him?” Jack jerked his head back above them where Widowmaker was waiting in the shadows. “And with her? The one who – ” He swallowed, but Fareeha didn’t give him a chance to gather his thoughts into words. She knew exactly why he stumbled over those words.

“The one who killed my mom? Funny, Jack, if I had to say one person here killed my mom it would be you. Gabe told me. I know the truth.”

Fareeha didn’t know what she was looking for. An admission of guilt? An apology? Anything to let her know that Jack regretted his choices. Anything.

“It’s what she would’ve wanted.”

She couldn’t speak. She felt Angela slide close to her, wrap her arm around her waist so that she was carrying some of Fareeha’s weight and they stood pressed together, united. “Do you mean letting her die?” she finally whispered. “Or lying to me about it?”

“If we had gone back for her, we would’ve lost more people.”

“So? I wouldn’t have lost my mom.” The words ripped out of her throat with agony, and she hated herself for saying them. Who was she, that she would sacrifice other agents, other people with families of their own, just to save her own family? It was selfish and…she knew she was wrong. As much as she wanted her mom back, she couldn’t risk all those other lives for one woman, even if that woman was her mother.

“You could’ve gone back for her yourself,” Gabe said. “Risked your life to save hers. Would’ve been a fair exchange.”

Frankly, Fareeha thought that math was right.

She saw a small look of confusion spread across Angela’s face, though. “Gabriel, I thought you were upset with Ana or…I don’t know. Just unexpected to hear you say that, I guess.”

That was news to Fareeha. Her mom and Gabe had been inseparable up until Ana had died, and she hadn’t gotten any upset or angry vibes from Gabe when times Ana had come up. Angry with Jack, certainly, but not Ana.

“What’s that about?” she frowned, mostly at Gabe. Angela seemed just as confused as Fareeha felt.

“It’s nothing.”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t say that,” Angela disagreed. She shrugged towards Fareeha. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem like he hated her or wanted her dead, but he acted weird when I brought her up. Like he didn’t…it was like they’d had a fight or something. That level of serious, not murder serious.”

“Why would you be mad at mom? She’s…she’s been dead for years, Gabe. She never hurt you, and I don’t think she ever would.”

“I’m not.” But he seemed slightly agitated, like he disagreed with what she’d said. “Angela’s overreacting.”

One thing her girlfriend could rarely be accused of was overreacting; this was a woman who regularly stared death in the face. She wasn’t prone to blowing anything out of proportion, because she’d already experienced some of the worst the world had to offer. “You must really be sweating, Gabe, you can usually come up with better excuses.”

 “There’s a lot you don’t know about your mother, Fareeha.”

“Like what? Tell me.” She was more desperate than she wanted to be. Though Reinhardt, Torbjorn, even Angela had been close to her mom, none of those relationships even came close to rivalling what she and Gabe and Jack had had. Those two could tell her things about her mom that no one else could. “Please. I’m an adult. If it’s bad, I can handle it. I want to know her as much as I can.”

“Gabe.” There was a warning in Jack’s voice; did he know too? She wouldn’t be surprised. She also wouldn’t be surprised if the only way they would actually work together would be to keep her from getting hurt. No matter what else they’d lost over the years, including almost all their morals, their urge to protect her apparently hadn’t left.

“I won’t tell her, Jack, don’t be ridiculous,” Gabe scowled. He turned towards Fareeha. “Just give it up for now, alright? It’s not my place to tell you. Or his.”

So it was someone else’s secret to tell. Maybe that was for the best; Gabe and Jack were so stubborn, but the others she could likely get to talk. In any case, she could needle Gabe about whose secret it was later. There was still something else she wanted to know. “Then why defend her?”

He gave a heavy exhale. “Whatever problems I may or may not have with your mom, I would never want…what happened…to her to have happened. Never. And I wouldn’t want you to be lied to either.”

“Don’t try to get on your high horse now,” Fareeha said icily. “You’ve been lying to me for a long time too.”

“We’re not the only liars here.” She had expected Jack to come for Gabe, not her, but she supposed they’d had plenty of time to fight with each other. Her lying, however, was fresh, and for him, unexplained. “I saw what happened at Gibraltar.”

Fareeha didn’t care enough to ask how or why he’d been spying on Overwatch. What she did care about, as much as she hated to admit it, was what he thought of her. “What about it?”

“You helped him get in. You helped Talon steal sensitive information.”

“I’m a member of Talon; I already told you that,” she said calmly, though her throat was dry.

“She doesn’t have to answer to you of all people.” Angela’s voice was sharp, and she looked like she would pounce on Jack if he continued down that line of questioning. For someone so incredulous when Fareeha had mentioned joining Talon, Angela sure was ready to defend Fareeha’s choices now. But then, there were few things she could do that Angela wouldn’t defend, and this decision at least had a reasonable explanation.

“She doesn’t have to answer to me. She has to answer to Lena, and Jesse, and Winston; do I need to go on?”

No, he didn’t need to list every single person she’d hurt in that base, as if she hadn’t already thought about them all. “They’re all alive.” Her voice was quiet. “Maybe that’s not a lot, but if I hadn’t been there, some of them might not be.”

She didn’t know if Gabe could kill most people in that base, but Winston, who he’d never been too close with, who’d kicked his ass once before and who he’d been in the beginnings of an explosive fight with? Maybe. It wouldn’t be too much of a reach.

“Low standards.”

“God, I’m well-aware of that, Jack!” Fareeha snapped. “Angela’s right, I don’t need to explain myself to you, especially when _you’re_ one of the main reasons I decided to join in the first place, how the hell am I supposed to believe in an organization that killed my mom then lied about it?”

She felt the shift in the energy of the room, because she’d finally told Jack what he wanted to know – why she was with Talon – as much as the tone of her voice. He hadn’t been playing with them, exactly, but he’d been stalling, not being as aggressive as he really should have been. And Gabe had perhaps known that it would be easier to let Angela and Fareeha say what they needed to than to try and stop them, but it was evident that they were both finished with Jack.

Which left Gabe free to be Reaper. “We’re done talking.”

But Fareeha still didn’t want Jack dead, and neither did Angela.

“Jack please just leave while you still can,” Angela pleaded, her animosity fading to the background. She didn’t want to see two people she loved kill each other any more than Fareeha did.

“I can’t.”

Fareeha turned to look at Gabe, still her Gabe, under that mask, beneath his half-formed, rotting face, still Gabe. She had to hope enough of him was left to listen to her. “Knock him out. Take him captive, even. We can do what we came here to do without killing him.”

“He was right, Fareeha. Akande won’t be happy if I let him escape again.”

“Is Doomfist’s happiness more important than Jack’s life?”

“When I say he won’t be happy, I mean he’ll doubt my loyalties, likely enough to oust me from the council.” He paused, hesitating, like he didn’t want to say what he was about to but didn’t have a choice. “I can’t guarantee yours and Angela’s safety if I don’t have any power within Talon.”

She winced. She had no doubts that Gabe’s high position in Talon was the only reason she and Angela were still alive and mostly well. Angela’s arm was a terrible thing to lose, but it could be worse. If there was one thing she’d learned over the years, it was that things could always be worse. Gabe had looked out for them, now she had to look out for him. No matter how much of him hated Jack, there was still a part of him that would be destroyed if he had to kill him.

“Maybe there’s another way.”

Before she could come up with some brilliant way to save them all, Widowmaker’s voice came over the coms. Fareeha had almost forgotten about her, she was so silent and invisible somewhere above them.

“Do I take the shot now?”

“ _No_ , Amélie,” Angela insisted.

“Reyes, what do – ” Widow cut off, and she was swinging down, and Angela, stupid, compassionate Angela was flying towards her and there was a gunshot that came from someone she hadn’t known was there and her whole world froze.

Angela and Widow were across the room on the ground. Angela was in Widow’s arms, not the other way around, which meant – Angela clutched her chest, her armor apparently ineffective, her fingers already bloody.

Fareeha went to them, forgetting Jack and the unknown shooter, she didn’t care if she made herself a bright blue target. “ _Angela_.”

She tried to pull Angela away, but Angela resisted. “No, someone’s targeting Amélie.”

It was just like before, Angela bloodied and injured, Fareeha helpless. But she wasn’t helpless this time. They weren’t alone. “I’ll protect her, Angela, I will. Gabe, take Angela, get somewhere safe, _please_ ,” she shouted, voice raw. He didn’t like Angela that much. He might not come. He might not care. He might grab Widow, or her, leave Angela here defenseless…

He didn’t. Almost before she could blink, he was a wraith, and he grabbed Angela, and he was out of her field of vision. Leaving her with Widow and someone who seemed to want them dead. Widow’s moment of gentleness, cradling Angela and shielding her from further harm, had disappeared. She had her gun raised and was scanning for their attacker.

Even Widow wasn’t quick enough to spot and take out someone who already knew where they both were. She dropped to the ground, not a gunshot this time, a dart, and Fareeha felt something prick her neck and her last thoughts were of Angela, was she safe, would Gabe protect her, would she live…

Her vision was rapidly going dark but she heard footsteps and moaned, struggling and failing to mount some kind of defense.

“Oh Fareeha…”

She knew she must be taking her last breaths. Why else would she hear a dead woman’s voice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long update time; some if it was being away, but it's mostly waning motivation to write. That being said, I would especially appreciate any comments on this or previous chapters to help give me a boost so I can give this story what it deserves. I'm not trying to be one of those "I need 10 comments before next update!!!" fanfic.net writers lmao just if you have enjoyed this fic or it's made you feel or if you're invested, please do let me know. 
> 
> (All that said I do have definite plans for next chapters and the future it's just a matter of will it happen sooner or later.)


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